


Big Rock Candy Mountain

by Basingstoke



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: 5 Things, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-15
Updated: 2004-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 63,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things that never happened to Andrew Wells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and blame to Te for inspiring this story. Many thanks to jacquez for a beta above and beyond the call of duty. And a million thanks to those who read this in the draft stages: you know who you are, and your enthusiasm was a lifesaver.

One:

 

"I don't want to go!" Andrew repeats.

 

Tucker smacks the back of his head. "Shut UP! God! You're driving me nuts!"

 

"It's the bad part of town! And, and it's a bar! We're not even supposed to be here! We can't even get in!" Andrew looks at the empty warehouses and chain-link fences all around them and gets the shivers. Mom said to _never_ go in the bad part of Sunnydale, because bad things happen there. Andrew really wishes Tucker would sometimes listen to their mom.

 

"I can SO get in!" Tucker says. "It's the Bronze. It's the place to be!"

 

Andrew makes a face. "You mean it's the place where _Cordelia_ is. You do her math homework, she's not going to _date_ you!"

 

"Shut UP! Or I tell Larry on the football team why you're called An-DROOLY."

 

"You shut up!" Andrew says, but that's it, because football Larry is really big and even meaner than Tucker and Tucker does _his_ math too.

 

But then when they finally get to the Bronze the guy at the door says "We're at the limit. Fire code says we can't let anyone else in."

 

"Come on, man," Tucker pleads, but the door guy stands firm.

 

Tucker charges back down the street with his hands stuck in his pockets. Andrew follows him. "So what now?"

 

"So shut up, An-drooly." Tucker grabs his shirt and pulls him down an alley. "We're going around the back."

 

And it's dark in the alley. It's dark and spooky and when Andrew was in the fifth grade, his class went to UC Sunnydale for a field trip and he was standing in line waiting for the bus and his last name is "Wells" and the boy behind him's last name was "Zimmerman" and when they all got into the bus that boy was gone and it was dark then and spooky and they _never found Charlie Zimmerman ever_ and Andrew really hates the dark. "Mom said not to go in alleys," Andrew says, walking closer to Tucker. "Kids disappear when they go in alleys."

 

"I'm not a kid. _You're_ a stupid kid. All the monsters will eat _you_." Tucker pokes him.

 

"That's not funny!" He steps on the back of Tucker's shoe accidentally and Tucker elbows him _hard _in the ribs.

 

"That's the Bronze," Tucker says. "What we do is, we wait for someone to come out, and then we go in, right?"

 

Andrew stares at the handle-less steel door. "That's a stupid plan! I don't want to go in! I want to go home!"

 

"We're not going home!" Tucker says. "You got it?"

 

"No!" If he has to be in this stupid dark scary alley one minute more he's going to freak out. He turns around and starts walking away, because while Tucker wasn't even supposed to leave the house tonight, he _really_ isn't supposed to let Andrew be alone at night.

 

But when he looks back, a girl and guy are running hand in hand down the alley away from him and the door is hissing closed and he can't reach it in time and he can't see Tucker anywhere. "Tucker?" he says.

 

And Tucker doesn't step out of a shadow and tell him to shut up. "Tucker?" he says again.

 

And the door doesn't open, and nobody lets him in. Andrew bites his hand, crouches down on his heels and wishes he were home. Home, with the safety bars on his windows and the big locks on the door and his old He-Man figure under the pillow so he can touch it when he's dreamed that he's somewhere horrible and scary and he has to remember that he's actually in his bed.

 

He sniffs. He rubs his eyes. He hunches into the wall and chews on the side of his thumb.

 

If he's alone, nothing awful can happen, right? It takes people to do horrible things.

 

Right?

 

The door opens and Andrew jumps up. A girl steps out and pauses in the doorway. She smiles at him. "Hey, darling," she says.

 

"Hi," Andrew says. "I need to go inside."

 

"Oh no... you're so fresh and _sweet_, you need to come with me." And she grabs his wrist and she's very _very_ strong and as she pulls him closer he sees there's something really wrong with her face.

 

"You get to meet the Master," she says, and when she smiles she shows fangs.

 

She's a monster. Mom was right, he's going to disappear, and Tucker is going to get all his Star Wars action figures so he'll probably be _glad_.

 

He throws all his weight backwards trying to escape, but the girl grabs him and slings him over her shoulder.

* * *

 

The girl meets up with another monster just outside one of the cemeteries. "No food for the Master?" she asks.

 

"Everyone is inside tonight," he complains.

 

"You hunt in the wrong _places_, dumbass," she says. "I went to the Bronze and look what a sweet fish I caught."

 

"It's _trite_," he grumbles. He kicks open the fence and he and the girl walk up into the cemetery.

 

There are some voices, some yelling. "What's that?" the monster girl asks.

 

Another monster girl, this one blond, leaps a gravestone and snarls: "Stop them!"

 

"Stupid humans, always running!" the guy growls. Andrew can't see what he's doing--can't see anything, between his tears and the girl's lacy dress--but he's suddenly dumped on the ground and another boy thrown on top of him.

 

"Oh man," the boy says, and Andrew realizes that he's all warm, not like the girl and her cold skin, and his face looks all right. "Jesse!" the boy shouts.

 

There's screaming. All kinds of screaming. The warm boy helps him up and they run and the monster girl knocks them back down. She snarls and grabs the boy and bends his head way back, exposing his neck, and she grins with her huge, sharp teeth so Andrew tries to hit her but slips. Instead he pokes her in the eye.

 

Tucker always tells him he fights like a girl. Eye-poking is fighting like a girl, he guesses, but it works.

 

She yowls and grabs his hand and bites it. Then suddenly she dissolves into dust with a funny noise, and there's a blond girl and a red-haired girl standing there and the dark-haired boy sitting beside him--hey, and he doesn't know the blond girl, but he knows Willow and Xander from Tucker's birthday parties; they're in the same class. Andrew can't see any monsters any more.

 

"Are the monsters dead?" he asks.

 

"Yeah," the blond girl says. "Who are you? Where's Jesse?"

 

"I don't know! They surrounded us," Willow says.

 

"That one girl grabbed Jesse and took off," Xander says.

 

Andrew's hand is cold. He feels dizzy, like he has to sit down, but he _is_ sitting down. "Oh, _crap_," Xander says suddenly, grabbing Andrew's arm, and then Andrew has to faint.

 

* * *

 

He's dreaming of fish...

 

"Andrew? Honey?"

 

Big fish, with big teeth.

 

"Andrew, honey, you had an accident, but you're going to be _okay_. You're in the hospital now."

 

The fish all sound like his mom. It's kind of weird.

 

"Andrew? Baby?"

 

"It's not my _fault_! How can it be my fault?"

 

Now the fish sound like his brother. Lame.

 

"He is your little brother and you are supposed to look out for him. _Especially_ when you go out after dark. Especially when I told you not to. You are grounded for the rest of your _life_, mister."

 

"Dad!"

 

He decides there must be three kinds of fish: mom-fish, brother-fish, and dad-fish.

 

They all have big teeth. He doesn't like it.

 

"Mr. and Mrs. Wells? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

 

It occurs to him that he might be awake. He tries cracking his eyes.

 

He sees Tucker leaning over his bed. He doesn't like it, so he closes his eyes again.

 

"I know you're awake, dumbass."

 

Andrew opens his eyes again.

 

"It's not my fault you got in an accident," Tucker says.

 

Andrew blinks at him.

 

"I brought you something." And he takes Andrew's He-Man figure out of his pocket and lays it on the bed beside him.

 

Andrew just blinks. He's feeling very floaty, and if he opens his mouth and lets his breath out he might float away.

 

Tucker looks down and sticks the figure under Andrew's pillow. "So--you'll tell Mom and Dad it wasn't my fault, right?"

 

Andrew closes his eyes. He tries to tuck his hand up under his pillow, but it's all wrapped in bandages like another pillow. Why does he need two pillows on his bed, and why is one on his hand?

 

"No, no, that's not acceptable!" he can hear his father saying. "No!"

 

When he sleeps again, he dreams of dogs.

 

With great big teeth.

 

* * *

 

...and a quarter:

 

Andrew has an alarm clock by his bed that tells him when to take his pills. He has little painkillers and big antibiotics all dosed out into dishes by his mom every morning since he can't open a pill bottle one-handed.

 

He's reading a lot. He re-read Tolkein and Gibson and Pratchett and all his DC comics and he's starting on his dad's stack of Patrick O'Brian novels because he's really bored. He could watch TV, but that's downstairs, and he's kind of woozy with the pain medications.

 

Also the hand rail is on the right.

 

The doctor says he'll be able to write and hold things and type when he's healed up some more. He'll have physical therapy and later maybe prosthetics and other stuff. His mom says definitely prosthetics now, but his dad says wait until he's all the way grown.

 

Tucker just wants to see the stumps. Andrew won't let him.

 

It's his middle and ring finger. Andrew wonders--what if he wants to wear a ring?--but a wedding ring would go on his left hand. So if he can still type and write and wear a ring and hold things, then he's not really disabled, right? It's just a scar, like having his appendix out or something. It's like the big gouge his grandfather has up his forearm where he got shot by a Nazi. It's a war wound from living in Sunnydale.

 

His mom said a dog bit him, but Andrew knows it was actually a vampire. He _saw_ her. She had fangs and was about to bite Xander Harris on the neck. All the bad stuff in Sunnydale is starting to make sense--and there's a _lot_ of it. He looked. You can surf the internet one-handed if you switch sides on the mouse.

 

The front door creaks open and bangs closed and Tucker stomps up the stairs. "I brought your books, shorty!"

 

Tucker rounds the corner and tosses his backpack onto the bed. Andrew looks at him--the guilt-making look, the one he just got really good at--and Tucker scowls and starts pulling books out of the bag. "They have a _ton_ of this stuff at the school. The librarian guy has some kind of special collection or something. It's freaky," Tucker says.

 

Andrew is just staring at the books, because they're all huge and old and straight out of the horror movies. _These_ are the books the vampire hunter has in his bag.

 

"_Cool_," Andrew says.

 

* * *

 

Andrew is reading the books he got yesterday. Last night he read until he fell over with his head on the page, and this morning he started right where he left off.

 

Tucker is home, talking to someone downstairs. Andrew ignores him.

 

Andrew has finished all the books about vampires and is now reading the ones about magic. It's all true. He can feel it. There's a fight between good and evil and it's being waged in Sunnydale. There's an evil leader, the Master, and a great hero, the Slayer--and he _knows_ she's here, because where else could she be?

 

It's like she's Aragorn, leading the fight against Sauron's orcs in Gondor. Andrew could be her--Gandalf?

 

Andrew stops and thinks. No, definitely not Gandalf, because he doesn't have the skills and wisdom already. He will be learning and growing into his abilities as a fighter for the cause of good. So maybe he's Pippin.

 

He braces the book on his knees and reads about summoning spells.

 

As he gets to Fyarl demons he hears feet on the stairs--two sets. Andrew looks up as Tucker and an old guy come through the door.

 

"Mr. Giles wants his books back," Tucker says.

 

Andrew hugs his book to his chest. "You said they were library books!"

 

"He's the librarian. Give them up," Tucker says, rolling his eyes and heading back down.

 

Mr. Giles looks after Tucker, then looks at Andrew's hand. He quickly removes his glasses and rubs them with his handkerchief. "Those books are non-circulating, I'm afraid, and should never have been checked out. I--was not clear to one of my student helpers. I'm terribly sorry for the mistake. I must have them back immediately."

 

Andrew looks at the book in his lap, all thick and old like books in vampire movies. This must be the vampire hunter! "Is there some evil you need to vanquish?"

 

"Excuse me?" Mr. Giles puts his glasses back on.

 

"That's why you have the books, right?" He sits up. "You're Gandalf! You help the Slayer fight the vampires!"

 

"I--well--er?"

 

"I want to help!" Andrew says. "I've fought the vampires already and I want to, um, fight them even more!"

 

Mr. Giles looks at his hand again. "You were the other boy in the cemetery, weren't you. I'm sorry--what's your name?"

 

"Andrew Wells. I'll be back in school soon!"

 

"Andrew--it's very important that you keep this a secret, all right?"

 

Andrew widens his eyes. "This is your secret identity? Like Bruce Wayne?"

 

"No, no, well, yes, but, listen--other people, who haven't been touched by events so _directly_, aren't going to listen or understand. I--" Mr. Giles looks around for a minute, maybe looking to see if evil spells or demons are spying on him. Andrew hadn't thought of that, the _infinite_ peril that surrounds the good. "--I do understand, and we can talk about this later, but just now I need those books."

 

Andrew stares up into his face, the face of the first real vampire hunter he's seen. He's weathered--rugged--he shows the sacrifice and toil of his noble cause.

 

It's a beautiful face. Andrew swallows and stares.

 

"I need them to fight evil," Mr. Giles says.

 

Andrew nods solemnly and closes the book. "Of course," he says, handing it to Mr. Giles.

 

* * *

 

...and a half:

 

Giles rubs his eyes.

 

He can see the letters on the page but they carry no meaning. It's Greek to him--except that he could read Greek.

 

He trusts Buffy's intuition. She is the Slayer. The Handbook--which he still wonders if he should show her--says that the feminine animal instinct of the Slayer is more powerful than a team of philosophers and their abacuses.

 

The Handbook is rather old.

 

Giles trusts Buffy to find the truth, as long as she doesn't pass a good shoe sale. He sighs and rubs his temples.

 

Unable to read. He's had dreams like that: he gets lost in the stacks, is unable to read the books, can't remember spells, and then something _really_ dreadful happens, usually to Buffy.

 

A student bangs through the door backwards and staggers into the check-out desk. He looks over his shoulder at Giles and his eyes are huge and filled with terror.

 

Then Giles notices his hands, clothed in fingerless gloves to disguise the space where two fingers are missing. Andrew Wells. "Can I help you? Is something wrong?"

 

Andrew points at the door with his damaged hand and twitches the other over his face. "I think I got lost. There were  trees and things looking at me and I was all alone right in the middle of the hallway! I shouldn't get lost in school!" His voice rises with hysteria.

 

"Good heavens. Sit," Giles says, hurrying over and taking his arm. "Have a nice cup of tea."

 

"Tea?" he asks, sniffling back tears.

 

"Earl Grey. It does wonders. Sit, please." Giles pushes on the boy's shoulder and he collapses onto a chair, hugging his bookbag to his chest.

 

Giles fetches a thermos and two cups and saucers from the office, thankful that he thought to bring tea this morning. "Things have been very strange today for everyone," he says, "but I'm quite sure it will be all right."

 

"You're sure?" Andrew asks. "Of course you're, uh--" He takes a deep, shaky breath.

 

Giles opens the thermos and smells the sharp reek of beer. "What on earth--this is _not_ what I put in here this morning!"

 

"Is it the evil? Is the evil playing tricks on us?" Andrew asks, sitting up and rubbing the backs of his gloves over his cheeks.

 

Giles sniffs the thermos and winces. American. "Yes, very likely," he replies. He replaces the top and sets the thermos aside. Hopefully he can discard it before Snyder discovers it.

 

"How can we fight it?" Andrew asks. His eyes are widening. He's quite serious, apparently.

 

He has to let the boy down gently. Willow and Xander have attached themselves to the Slayer, but enough is enough. "Well--each situation requires a different solution, and--it's rather tricky."

 

"I want to help. I, I want to learn magic!"

 

"Magic!" Oh, no. No. No, no, no. But the library doors bang open, then, and Willow and Xander run through. "We'll discuss this later," Giles tells Andrew.

 

With any luck, the boy will forget all about it.

 

* * *

 

The boy isn't even _saying_ anything, simply sitting there, reading his textbook and sipping his juice box. He's taken to lunching in the library. Giles has every authority to toss him out--and has several times--but he remains undeterred.

 

"All right," Giles sighs, and Andrew jerks his head up and grins. "All right, if you're really serious in this course, I'll give you a lesson."

 

"Yes! I am! I'm ready and able!" Andrew stands half up, then sits again and slams his textbook shut, gathers up the remains of his lunch into the brown paper sack and shoves everything back into his satchel. Giles looks through the books in the special collection, meanwhile, searching out a _particular_ volume.

 

Ah. He pulls it from the shelf and carries it to the worktable. "We fight more than just vampires," Giles says, and drops the book to the table like a cannonball. "Malegg's Demonology--a comprehensive listing of the inhuman and the unholy. This is a start."

 

Andrew is grave and close-mouthed when he nods up at Giles.

 

"Learn it. Know it." The book is four inches of tissue-thin paper. If that won't derail the boy, nothing will.

 

* * *

 

"Research. I love research, the books and the dust and the sneezing. Makes my day complete!" Xander says.

 

"Yes, I've always found," Giles says, glad they can agree on _something_.

 

"Uh--you know I'm being sarcastic, right?"

 

"Oh." He blinks. "Quite."

 

"So are we thinking that the baseball bat is possessed or that it was held by something invisible? Because, you know, wood you can burn, but invisible people you need a big ink pad for them to walk across and leave little Family Circus footprints all over town. Hey, do you have a big ink pad in the library?"

 

Giles removes his glasses and rubs an eyebrow as they walk along. "No--oh, I'm terribly sorry," he says after running into some poor girl. He replaces his glasses.

 

"What about angry tree spirits?" Xander says as he pushes open the library doors. "Possessing the wood to revenge their fallen brethren. Maybe Mitch insulted a tree once, did you think of that?"

 

"Xander? Kindly stop thinking and start reading and oh, dear." Giles says as he sees the boy sitting at the library table. Again. Still. Clutching Malegg's Demonology. Giles should never have given in.

 

"I heard there was evil afoot! I thought I could help," Andrew says.

 

"Who's this mook?" Xander mutters to Giles.

 

"Andrew Wells. The other boy in the cemetery when you were attacked. He's decided that he's going to be the Slayer's sorcerer," Giles whispers.

 

"Cemetery?" Xander looks confused for a moment--but the light dawns across his face. "Hey," Xander says to Andrew. "Uh. Thank you."

 

It isn't the response Giles would have expected, but he remembers that Xander was the one who stopped the bleeding and carried the boy to the nearest phone. Being drenched to the elbows in the blood of another person makes an impression even on sixteen-year-olds.

 

"For what?" Andrew asks. He looks more puzzled than usual.

 

"For saving my life with the thing with your hand." Xander sits next to Andrew. "And I didn't even know your name. It's been a little hectic."

 

"Lots of evil," Andrew says, nodding. He shifts in his seat, resettling the enormous book against his chest, and his fingers rub over the stumps on his opposite hand. "When you're a warrior for good it, uh, it keeps you very busy."

 

"Uh--yeah." Xander looks to Giles, but Giles examines the stacks of books on the main desk. It isn't as if _he_ understands the child either.

 

"Buffy Summers is the Slayer, right? And you help, right?"

 

Xander opens his mouth and looks at Giles again. "Yes, he figured it out and I confirmed it some time ago," Giles says.

 

"Well, yeah! That's us. Total warriors for, uh, good, and puppies, and rainbows. And stuff. It's cool. And how are you doing with the. Hand?" Xander says.

 

Andrew holds up his right hand and Xander visibly pales. "It's, it's great!" Andrew says. "I can't hold a pen? But I can already type. And my parents got me a laptop computer to take notes. In class."

 

"That's great." Xander's voice shakes, barely audible.

 

"Oh! I have class." Andrew jumps up. "Mr. Giles, do you need help with the evil later?"

 

"No, no, Xander and I are handling it quite well," Giles says.

 

"I understand," Andrew says with an exaggerated nod. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and leaves.

 

"Hey, that was fun. Let's meet the guy who saved your life with his fingers," Xander says, some of his bravado creeping back into his voice.

 

Giles picks up a stack of books from behind the counter and sets them on the table. "And Buffy saved both of you with her stake. Casualties are inevitable in a war."

 

"Yeah, I know, his name was _Jesse_," Xander snaps.

 

Giles removes his glasses. "I'm sorry. I hadn't forgotten."

 

"We lost that first battle."

 

"You're still--"

 

"We lost. Big. And I'm not gonna lose again, so let me at the books, okay?" Xander holds out his hands.

 

Giles gives him a book.

 

* * *

 

...and three quarters:

 

All the really good books are locked in the cage, but there's a lot in the stacks, and Andrew is reading it all.

 

He already knew about the vampires and the werewolves. That's kid stuff. Now he's reading about demons and magic. The magic is cool, but the demons are _really_ neat. Summoning demons is a lot easier than using magic--magical power comes from within, but demons can be controlled with bones and words.

 

Andrew tried a couple of spells but they didn't really work. The demon stuff sounds better. He just needs to know enough to be like Willow Rosenberg and Xander Harris: bosom companions of the Slayer, assisting in her heroic struggle against the forces of darkness while concealing it from the unknowing denizens of humble Sunnydale Town.

 

He sighs to himself. He _knew_ he'd do something cool some day.

 

Mr. Giles is muttering to himself in the library below. It's really comfortable, after hours, just the two of them studying Important Things.

 

Maybe Mr. Giles could use some help.

 

Andrew weights the pages with another book and jumps to his feet to see what Mr. Giles is doing.

 

He's surrounded by notebooks and dictionaries and things and he's saying to himself: "And the Master will rise, and then... bugger."

 

The Master is the leader of the forces of evil in Sunnydale, Andrew is pretty sure. "The Master? Is rising? From where?" Andrew asks.

 

Mr. Giles jumps as if stung by a bee. "Andrew!" Mr. Giles shouts. "Dear God--don't _do_ that!"

 

He slaps his own wrist mentally. He could have been a vampire or a demon or a bad witch or _anything_. "I'm sorry, Mr. Giles."

 

"What on earth are you doing here?" Mr. Giles asks. "It's nearly dark."

 

"Tucker has another study date with Cordelia that he thinks is a date date so he told me to wait here after school until he comes to get me." His brother is so lame. Andrew tried a spell to give him zits all over his face before the study date thing, but Andrew just ended up giving himself a rash all across his ankles. Stupid wishing spells.

 

Mr. Giles has a funny look on his face. "But you haven't been _here_, surely."

 

"I'm--always here," Andrew says. Hasn't Mr. Giles noticed?

 

Mr. Giles looks at him for a long moment and Andrew shifts and looks at the floor and the table instead. Finally Mr. Giles takes off his glasses and rubs his nose. "Andrew, it really isn't safe for you to be alone. This is a public place--there's nothing keeping the vampires out. If you need to be here, please read at the front table where I can see you."

 

Andrew nods. He guesses he's just too stealthy for Mr. Giles--he is kind of old. "I didn't want to disturb you. What you're doing for the Slayer is very, very important."

 

"Yes, well." Mr. Giles puts his glasses back on. "Do you want to help?"

 

Andrew sits across from him--he bangs his knee against the table leg but that doesn't _matter_, because he has _work_ to do. "I am ready and able to assist you in the fight against evil, Mr. Giles!" he says.

 

Mr. Giles leans back a little, then pulls a book from the stack on the table. "All right. Look for references to the Master."

 

It's huge and old and bound in leather and iron. It's one of Mr. Giles's special vampire-hunter books.

 

This is it. Andrew--he's _part_ of it. The big fight. The epic battle. He's riding the wing of the storm at the Slayer's side and he'll be there with his weapons and his encyclopedic knowledge of demons and Mr. Giles will say what a good soldier he is and maybe the Slayer will kiss him and--

 

"Did you have a question?"

 

Andrew blinks. "Um--no."

 

"All right then." Mr. Giles bends his head over his notebooks. He didn't say what he was translating, but Andrew bets it's important.

 

* * *

 

"La la la," Andrew sings, "la la la, someone doesn't have a date!"

 

It's Spring Fling tonight and they're both at home.

 

Tucker kicks the bathroom door. Andrew holds it closed with his good hand, bracing himself against the sink.

 

"Someone's a huge loser!" Andrew shouts.

 

"Someone is breaking his ass!" Tucker shouts back.

 

He guesses Tucker means _him_, but that doesn't even make sense. "You're so dumb! You don't even know good insults!"

 

"I don't have to, you little twerp! I can insult your _head_ with my _fists_!" Tucker kicks the door again, but it's old and solid. Tucker once punched the plaster in Andrew's bedroom and broke his hand; maybe he'll break his toes now. That would be cool.

 

"I hate you!" Tucker shouts. "I hate you! God dammit!"

 

Then it's quiet for a minute. Andrew stays put--Tucker can be wily. He's giggling to himself, under his breath so Tucker can't hear him.

 

Then he hears Tucker say, "I _hate_ you and your stupid gay toys," and then he hears plastic cracking. It makes an unmistakable sound against the wood floor.

 

Andrew stops laughing.

 

He hears the door slam. He opens the bathroom door.

 

His He-Man is fractured all over the floor. There are dirty boot prints on its soft plastic head; its arms and legs are all cracked and broken backwards.

 

Andrew sits on the floor and looks at it.

 

After a little bit, he hears the front door unlocking. He jumps up and runs down the stairs. When his mom comes through the door, he hugs her tight.

 

"Andrew! Hi, honey," she says. She drops her briefcase and hugs him back.

 

He's taller than her now, maybe. "Hi, Mom."

 

"What's wrong, baby?" She pats his cheeks.

 

"It's Spring Fling and I don't have a date." He didn't ask anyone, actually. He's busy with more important things.

 

"Oh! Aren't you--well, you boys are growing up."

 

"Yeah." He's almost fifteen. Tucker just turned sixteen.

 

"Well, we can have fun at home." Mom looks at her briefcase, but then smiles at him. "We can have popcorn and watch movies, okay?"

 

Andrew smiles.

 

"Where's Tucker?"

 

"Busy with stuff," Andrew says.

 

"Just the two of us." Mom locks the door and slides the bolt into place. "Pick out some videos, okay?"

 

"Okay." He's already thinking--Superman and Batman, because they're heroes.

 

He's digging through the video drawer on the entertainment center as Mom makes popcorn when he hears the creak on the stair. He turns and sees Tucker hanging over the railing on the landing.

 

Andrew stares at him angrily.

 

Tucker is all weird and pale, but he comes downstairs anyway, picks up his sunglasses from the table by the door, and goes back up like that's what he meant to do.

 

Jerk.

 

Andrew looks at the picture of Christopher Reeve on the back of the Superman tape. He knows _real_ heroes. When the Slayer fights the Master he's going to be there by her side and then he'll be a hero too.

 

And stupid Tucker is always going to be stupid.

 

Andrew beams and goes to help his mom with the popcorn.

 

* * *

 

Andrew turns his robe over and over in his hands. "What's the fiber content on these? Because I'm not supposed to wear wool. It gives me a rash."

 

"Hair of virgin goats. They haven't got labels--stop manhandling it and put it on," Mr. Giles says. Andrew flinches away and pulls the robe over his head.

 

"How do they know the goats are virgins? What, do they ask them pointed questions about necking with the billies?" Xander says to Willow. Willow goes red.

 

Mr. Giles frowns at them both. "Do you all have your holy water?" he asks. They nod. "Right. We're forming a pentagram with the tree as one point. Andrew, come stand here." Mr. Giles beckons. "Willow, here, and Xander, here. Andrew, stop that!"

 

Andrew scratches his neck hard. "It's itchy!"

 

"It's sacred! And it's only for a few minutes. Xander, be careful with that candle! You're both flammable and the robes are borrowed."

 

Xander stops elbowing Willow. Andrew looks around nervously; he hasn't been in a cemetery since he got attacked, even though they're shortcuts from anywhere to everywhere. Even Tucker doesn't give him crap about it. Andrew hunches his shoulders to rub his itchy neck, feeling kind of wiggy.

 

"Andrew, stop that this _instant_. Willow, kindly don't call on the goddess Hecate during the ritual."

 

"I wasn't!" Willow says, her eyes round as pennies.

 

"Mind your fingers, then." Mr. Giles rubs his head. "Right. All of you, stand where I put you and _don't_ move, for heaven's sake."

 

Andrew wrinkles his nose, trying to ignore the itchiness of the collar of the robe. He can't help twitching a little bit.

 

Mr. Giles gives them all one last look and then recites from a scroll in Latin. Andrew has just started his study of Latin, so he only recognizes a little bit... actually, pretty much just the fact that it _is_ Latin. Mr. Giles stops reciting and points at Andrew, so Andrew unscrews his jar of holy water and pours it out over the grave of the Master.

 

The Master is really dead. Really, truly, in-the-ground-covered-in-holy-water dead. And he helped. Is helping. Even though he wasn't there for the epic battle.

 

Andrew smiles. Maybe he missed the battle with the Master, but there will be plenty of battles with the demons on the Hellmouth. It's going to be an exciting summer.

 

Mr. Giles starts chanting again. Andrew concentrates on not scratching his neck.

 

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Two:

"Do summers get any more boring than this?" Xander asks nobody in particular. He's tossing a stake up in the air and catching it.

"Yes," Willow and Mr. Giles say together.

"Remember that summer you broke your leg when you went skateboarding down the stairs on the last day of school and your mom didn't let you outside until the day before school started again and we had to go run through every stream and then you got sunburn?" Willow asks him. "That summer was way worse than this one."

Xander has a funny look on his face. "Repressed memories... flooding back..." He sits heavily on the couch beside Willow.

Andrew is sitting at the worktable across from Mr. Giles, working through the witch chapter in Malegg's Demonology. He almost has the whole book memorized and Mr. Giles is really impressed. He _said_ so. Right in front of the others. It makes Andrew smile secretly when he thinks about it.

Mr. Giles is reading old Watcher journals. Probably he misses the Slayer and all the excitement. Probably the Slayer is rescuing her sister from demons from hell _right this minute_ in L.A. Xander has been telling him Slayer stories all summer--some of the _real_ stories behind the weird stuff at Sunnydale High--like the one where the new science teacher was really a giant bug that wanted to eat the boys in her class.

Xander said she chose him because he was so big and manly that he'd make a good meal, and that makes sense to Andrew. Tucker really really liked her too and said that she'd invited him over to help her with a special project but that he hadn't been able to make it since he had a doctor's appointment that afternoon; Andrew figures it's just that Tucker wasn't as big or manly as Xander, so the teacher didn't dose him with as many pheromones.

"Okay, so this is the second most boring summer ever," Xander says.

"But it's _much_ more entertaining now that we're listening to you complain," Mr. Giles says.

"Maybe when the Slayer killed the Master the spell of evil over Sunnydale was broken forever," Andrew says.

"I very much doubt it. The Hellmouth is still present, though closed," Mr. Giles says. "And it's getting dark, shouldn't you be running along home? Now?"

"If you're _sure_ there are no demons for us to slay? Werewolves to trap? Witches to de-wart?" Xander makes a kung-fu pose. "Slayerettes in action!"

Andrew looks at Mr. Giles. "Do you have any conjuring powder?"

Mr. Giles gives him a hard look. "Why?"

"We could make a light. So it wouldn't be dark when we go home, at least where we are."

Andrew jumps as Xander claps him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, guy, we'll walk you home. Inner circle," gesturing to Willow, "very tough."

"Okay," Andrew says. Xander grins.

Xander's _very_ tough--he's got all kind of stories. Andrew is sure that if the Slayer hadn't been there, Xander would have figured out how to kill all the vampires and save them. He's tried telling Xander this, but Xander always changes the subject--he's so modest.

"Off you go, then," Mr. Giles says. "I'll see you when school starts."

"Unless of course something exciting happens," Willow says.

"Of course."

Andrew closes his book reluctantly. Mr. Giles has such a great library. "I miss school," he says as he gets up.

"Sacrilege and heresy!" Xander opens the door.

"I think it's rather refreshing, actually," Mr. Giles mutters as they all file out.

Xander walks next to Willow and Andrew trails behind them a few steps. "Where do you live?" Willow asks. "I've never been."

"On Revello four blocks down from Buffy. And, um, you and Xander both used to go to Tucker's birthday parties. I remember you." Andrew fidgets the glove back and forth on his right hand.

"Tucker?" Xander says.

"My brother. He's in your grade."

"Brother?" Willow says.

"He's a big jerk."

"Tucker who fainted when they made us dissect the worms in science class?" Xander says. Andrew blinks. He never heard about _that_ one.

"Ooh! Ice cream! They're still open!" Willow runs over to the Frozen Delights across the street. "Ice cream, guys!"

"Ooh!" Xander runs over beside her and Andrew follows them inside.

Willow looks very carefully at the buckets of ice cream behind the glass window. "They're usually not open when we're around, or there's an emergency or something. Oh look! Strawberry Surprise. I love surprises!"

"No, you hate surprises," Xander says.

"I like ice cream related surprises. Unless the surprise is licorice. Do you think it might be? Maybe I should get vanilla." Her forehead knots up with worry.

"It might be, those licorice-hiding bastards," Xander says, "but I bet if you ask the man, he'll tell you."

"They have coffee ice cream."

"No," Xander says.

"But it's yummy," Willow says.

"And you can't," Xander says. "Nobody likes a Willow-pancake on the ceiling."

Andrew looks over the buckets. He used to like bubble gum ice cream, but that's baby stuff.

Xander nods at the clerk. "Strawberry Surprise for her, pistachio for me, and what do you want, Andrew?"

Andrew jerks his head up. "Uh--pistachio," he says.

"Looks like you're the odd man out, Will."

"Oh," she says, sounding crushed.

The clerk dishes up their ice cream--"Special for the lady," he says, winking at Willow, who looks briefly panicked--and Xander pays.

Andrew tries the pistachio and decides he likes it. Willow looks at her cone from every angle as they start toward Revello Drive. "I still don't know what the surprise is," she says.

"It must be great to be an ice cream man," Xander says. "Ice cream, girls, striped shirt... what more could you want?"

Andrew licks his ice cream and looks in the storefronts. The Bronze is about ten blocks down the other direction and there's a cemetery on the other side of the little business district. Sunnydale isn't really big enough for there to be safe places.

Willow cautiously tastes her ice cream. "The surprise is that there are bananas inside," she says happily.

"Ice cream surprises are good surprises," Xander says.

"Tucker once put dirt in my chocolate chip ice cream and that's why I don't eat chocolate chip anything any more. There were bugs." Andrew makes a face, remembering that.

"Ew," says Willow.

"Ditto," Xander says.

There are a lot of people around; the college opened the dorms this week, so a lot of the students are back. They seem young and happy and healthy and none of them are looking warily into the alleys like Xander and Willow and Andrew are.

Obviously they're from out of town. Funny--so is Buffy.

"Do you think everyone has a destiny?" Andrew asks Xander, "like--maybe--there's a reason people come here to study on the Hellmouth?"

"They don't _know_ it's the Hellmouth," Willow says.

"Well they wouldn't, if their destiny is to live on the Hellmouth unconsciously," Andrew points out.

"No. I don't believe in destiny. I think this is all random, and people do things because they do things," Xander says.

Willow points at Xander with her ice cream cone. "But the Master killed Buffy according to a prophecy. That's like destiny."

"You think Jesse was put here just to die?" Xander snaps.

They're all quiet for a minute. Andrew licks his ice cream and wonders about his destiny: is he supposed to be the Slayer's great sorcerer or her demon-master? Mr. Giles probably has the sorcerer job covered, so he'd better stick to demons.

"Maybe the Slayer has a destiny," Xander says, "but the rest of us are just regular guys and we totally don't. I don't think it's possible for everyone on the planet to be at exactly the right place at the right time for everything to go according to some big cosmic plan."

"Well--if you _start_ something at a certain place at a certain time with a certain set of qualities, you can predict its interactions with other things. That's just physics," Willow says.

"Isn't it physics where the cat is alive and dead at the same time?"

"Well, yeah, but that's different."

"Did they use Hellmouth cats for that? Because vampires, alive, dead, undead, I see a theme."

"That's not really what the experiment was about."

"And what kind of physics experiment makes you kill cats anyway?" Xander asks.

"It's. Um. It's a _thought_ experiment. They didn't actually kill cats." Willow starts to look worried again. "I mean, I don't _think_ they did. Cute little kitties!"

They've reached Revello. Willow and Xander turn towards Buffy's house, so Andrew has to correct them: "I live this way. Near Buena Vista."

"Oh, right!" Xander and Willow switch back.

He knows where Buffy's house is; his best friend in 7th grade lived there before his dad disappeared and his mom moved them back East to be with her family. Brian wasn't ever really the same after his dad. He never wrote from Maryland.

Andrew walks with his right hand in his pocket and the ice cream in his left. "What do you think it's like not to live in Sunnydale?" he asks.

"Less vamps, I guess," Xander says.

"Definitely fewer field trips canceled because of demon activity," Willow says.

"Maybe people who don't live on the Hellmouth don't have a destiny, but people who do live on the Hellmouth all do. That would make sense. Because why else would anyone stay?"

The others don't answer. "That's my house," Andrew says, pointing with his ice cream.

"Okay. We'll see you when school starts, I guess." Xander waves with his cone. He and Willow turn back while Andrew is still walking up the driveway, so Andrew hurries. The sun is just a blue smear in the western sky and this is the time of the fell creatures now.

When he opens the door, Tucker is lying on the couch watching TV. Andrew looks at him for a second; they haven't really been talking all summer, just sort of staring. It's been great.

Tucker jumps up and marches over to him. "What flavor?"

"It's--pistachio." Tucker raps him on the head and takes his ice cream. "Ow!"

"That's a pistachio-flavored bruise," Tucker says, putting him in a headlock so he can't hit back.

* * *

This is going to be the best school year ever.

"Agriculture," Mr. Giles says.

"S," Andrew says.

"History."

"C through F."

"Bibliographies."

"Z!"

"Excellent!" Mr. Giles says.

"It's like I'm seeing double," Xander whispers to Willow.

"I heard that," Mr. Giles says, "and while being a librarian may not be the most storied of careers, it's unequaled in its potential for subterfuge."

"That means spying," Willow says.

Andrew grins. He _knew_ Mr. Giles was special.

The library door swings open; Buffy walks in, followed by a younger girl. "Dawn?" Mr. Giles asks.

"Dawnie, what are you doing here? It's a Saturday, and it's the wrong school," Willow says.

"Dawn, Queen of Brats, says that if I don't take her to a special secret meeting with my Slayer friends then she's going to tell mom about me being the Slayer. So here she is. Show her how un-fun and totally boring it is to fight vampires all the time," Buffy says, throwing herself in a chair.

Dawn sits next to Andrew. "I always knew, I just didn't have proof. And you can't shut me out of stuff forever. I'm _eleven_. I have rights."

"Giles, tell her she doesn't have rights!"

"Ah. Well. Under the American Constitution, all citizens have rights..."

"Ha!" Dawn says.

"...but I'm afraid that none of them address Slaying specifically. Buffy, how--?" Mr. Giles leans over Buffy.

"She hid in the closet while I was talking to Angel, which is _so gross_!"

"I'm also telling Mom you let boys in your room," Dawn says smugly.

"Not if I duct tape your mouth shut and lock you in the basement." Buffy waves a fist at Dawn. Dawn sticks out her tongue.

"Ah." Mr. Giles straightens up. "Well, we were just discussing... the Library of Congress system. Works of fiction, Andrew?"

"P," Andrew says.

Dawn looks at Andrew. "What's _that_?"

Andrew sits up straighter. "It's the system of library book organization developed by the Library of Congress. It's very useful if you're going to be a spy."

Dawn's face lights up. "_Cool_!"

Mr. Giles takes off his glasses and cleans them as Buffy groans "Andrew!"

Andrew gasps. He encouraged the Slayer's sister, when he was supposed to discourage her! "I meant that--it's very, um--_boring_, to be like--be all British. And librarian... y. Like Mr. Giles," he says, trying to cover his mistake.

"Today we're fixing the card cabinet," Willow says, "making sure everything is in the right order. Tomorrow we get to re-shelve books."

"You guys are _such_ bad liars. I'm telling Mom unless I hear the good stuff now," Dawn says.

Andrew looks to the Slayer in consternation. She rolls her eyes. "Fine. Want to hear about the time I died? Or hey! Andrew, show her your hand. It's _fun_ to be part of this gang."

"Buffy--" says Mr. Giles, sounding kind of like he's warning her.

The Slayer called him part of the gang! Andrew tugs his glove off obediently.

"COOL!" Dawn squeaks when Andrew shows his bitten fingers.

"No! Not cool! Tragic! Painful! That's it." Buffy jumps out of her seat and stands over her sister with her hands on her hips. "You're out of here. Go ahead and tell Mom--she isn't going to believe you, anyway."

"Buffy!"

"No! Gone!" Buffy yanks Dawn up out of her chair and hauls her out of the room.

"She'll believe me about the _boys_," Dawn growls as the doors swing shut behind them.

* * *

Later that night, Andrew is having Spaghetti-Os in front of the TV when the doorbell rings. Andrew turns the TV off and checks the peephole carefully before answering.

It's Dawn--and it's _dark_ out. Andrew unlocks the door as fast as he can. "Come in!" he gasps, "before the creatures of the night find you and incorporate you into their dastardly schemes!"

Dawn makes a face at him. "Does Buffy make everyone mental? I live four blocks away. There aren't any evil creatures between your house and my house."

"Creatures lurk everywhere, unseen and unsuspected," Andrew says.

"So--_show_ me some stuff, and I'll suspect." Dawn crosses her arms just like her sister and glowers up at him.

Andrew opens his mouth--but she has him. That's a logical _trap_, all right. "You are wily, Dawn Summers," he sighs. "Come up into my study and I will show you the secrets of Sunnydale's dark underbelly of terror."

Dawn follows him upstairs. "This is your bedroom, not your study," she says.

He should have put up that screen painted with books like he was planning. He had some really cool ideas--he could split his room in half with a screen or maybe a backdrop like in a play, and then put up some wood paneling and get a lot of books--it would be really _sophisticated_, like Mr. Giles's house. He hasn't had time to do much of anything, though.

They both sit on the bed. Andrew slips on his reading glasses, licks his fingertips and opens Malegg's Demonology. "The first lesson, little Dawn--"

"Don't call me little!"

"But you are--" She punches his arm. "Ow! Dawn!"

"I'm fierce! And I'm a hair-puller, so don't call me little," Dawn says.

Everyone's always _hitting_. "Fine," he grumbles. "There are lots of different kinds of evil. There are witches and sorcerers who use magic and creatures who _are_ magic like demons. The vampire is a kind of demon--"

"That's not how you say vampire," Dawn says.

Andrew scowls at her. "The vam_pire_\--"

"You're supposed to put the emphasis on the first syllable, not the second."

Andrew hits her on the arm. Dawn shoves him over sideways and sits on his chest. "This is America! There aren't any laws about--against being more _sophisticated_," Andrew says.

"Are so."

"Are not."

"Are so."

"Are not a million!" Andrew tries to elbow her but misses. Dawn picks up the book, but she overbalances and they both fall on the floor.

Andrew sighs. "Do you want to hear about evil or not?"

"Do." Dawn props herself up on her elbows as Andrew straightens himself up and examines his book.

"Then listen and learn."

* * *

Later, Andrew lets Dawn see his hand again.

"It was really a vampire?"

"Yeah."

"Were you scared?"

"Yeah." Andrew looks at the smooth stumps--it's almost like he was just never supposed to have fingers. "But your sister was there."

"She always is." Dawn wraps her arms around her knees while Andrew puts his gloves back on. "I should probably go home before she freaks out," she says.

It's dark out. And dangerous. And he's older and more experienced in the ways of good and evil. "I can walk you home," he says.

Dawn stands up. She tugs aside the curtains and looks out of his safely barred window. "Vampires and demons and witches, oh my."

She didn't grow up here. She wouldn't know like the natives know. "Yeah," Andrew says.

* * *

...and a quarter:

"Efnet demons are the ones from England," Andrew announces, "and Afnet demons are the ones from Scandinavia." He points to the passage and takes off his reading glasses. His eyes hurt.

"You're positive of that?" Mr. Giles hurries out of the office with a stack of parchment in his hand.

"Yeah--I think so. Ugra knows his area--right?"

"Yes. Good work." Mr. Giles rests a hand on his shoulder and reads the passage. "Very good, that's it exactly."

"It's late."

Andrew jumps and hits Mr. Giles in the chest with his head. They both turn and see Angel standing in the stacks. "For you," Angel says.

Angel. Tall, dark, and handsome, like the prince caught in evil's magical spell in the movies. He swoops in, fights for the cause of Light, and entangles the Slayer in the mystery of his eyes.

"We had a spot of research to do. An Afnet demon lord is going to rise next month in Copenhagen," Mr. Giles says.

Angel tilts his chin slightly. "Why is this an issue?"

"It's not rising _here_."

"Oh. Good to know."

"I find it comforting."

Angel stands silently for a moment as they all watch each other. "You can sleep tomorrow, at least," Angel says.

"Yes--Halloween."

"But isn't--won't that be--" Andrew looks from Angel to Mr. Giles.

"Popular with children and amateurs," Angel says, "but anyone who knows anything stays in on Halloween. I came to let you know I won't be around--but it shouldn't be a problem. Even Spike has enough pride not to attack tomorrow night."

"Of course," Mr. Giles says. "Buffy will have--a party of some sort, I'm sure."

"Do you want to sit down? There's tea and coffee--" Andrew swallows as Angel _looks_ at him. "--but not any, uh, blood, so that's not--hospitable."

"I can drink tea and coffee. I just don't eat. And I'm not staying."

* * *

"I _could_ be a robot," Andrew says, "with, with some foil and some cardboard."

"You're no good at building stuff. It always breaks," Tucker says.

Andrew looks at the sidewalk. It's true. "You could help."

"I don't _want_ to help."

Tucker has the Halloween money. They're supposed to get costumes, then Tucker is supposed to stay at home and pass out candy while Andrew goes trick-or-treating. Andrew thinks he might be too old for that--he's fifteen and almost a _half_\--but it doesn't matter, because Tucker has decided they're both going trick-or-treating and he's spending the rest of the money on a girl and if Andrew doesn't agree he doesn't get a costume at all.

Because he really isn't any good at making stuff. He could maybe cast a costume glamour--he's _pretty_ sure he could do that if he could get the stuff. But Mr. Giles says that magic should only be used for terribly important things like saving the world because of, um, something about chaos and entropy.

Tucker yanks his arm and pulls him into Ethan's Costume Shop. It must be new--Andrew has never seen it before. "Wait here. I have an idea."

"I could be Indiana Jones. Then I could wear Dad's jacket and I'd just need a hat."

"Don't be stupid, Andrew! You couldn't be Indiana Jones. I said _wait_, so hands on the counter!" Tucker points to the makeup counter.

Andrew puts his hands on the counter and Tucker disappears into the store. Their mom used to do this when they were kids, tell them the glass was made of glue and they couldn't unstick their hands. Then it was kind of fun, and they giggled. It's not fun by himself.

An employee strolls behind the counter, head cocked, looking at Andrew. "Hello, my poppet. What _are_ you looking for?"

Andrew swallows. "Nothing! My brother is looking."

"Everyone wants something," the man says. "When the priests of the Chaos lord Angharok cut the middle fingers from their hands, it was to emulate his sacred claws and allow them tap into his power over life and death. The priests of Angharok live forever."

Andrew looks up into his dark eyes and sees power. He can't look away. "My hand was an accident."

"There _are_ no accidents, my poppet, only possibilities." The man touches Andrew's chin, shutting his mouth with a snap of teeth and lifting his face. Andrew breathes in deeply, smelling dragon's blood oil and other ingredients he recognizes but that Mr. Giles won't ever let him touch. He keeps his hands pressed flat on the glass. The man smiles like a snake. 

Then Tucker rings the counter bell. "I want to check out!"

The man looks up with a small frown of irritation. "One moment," he says, and when he lets Andrew's chin drops Andrew exhales.

He feels kind of dizzy.

He stands there, hands on the glass, until Tucker grabs his arm and yanks him out the door.

He rubs his chin as he stumbles home, but it won't stop tingling. He  
forgets to ask Tucker what his costume is until it's too late.

* * *

Tucker is a ventriloquist and Andrew is his dummy. Andrew has a really ugly mask on that he can't see out of properly and he keeps making little kids cry.

He's miserable. Mr. Giles is tidying up the card catalog tonight; he wishes he were helping with that instead. He wishes he were scrubbing the _bathroom_ instead.

But he's carrying a pillowcase and wearing the horrible mask and his suit he just outgrew and his brother is behind him in a suit and a straw hat with his hand on his back propelling him down Revello Drive.

Andrew knocks on the door. Buffy's mom opens it and smiles. "Andrew! Tucker! Look at you--isn't that cute?" She's wearing a retro peasant dress with leaves embroidered on it and she has a fake-vine wreath on her head.

"Hi, Mrs. Summers," they say together. Dawn bounces up in a pretty pink dress and tiara and Andrew smiles behind the mask.

"Thank you for taking Dawn out, boys," Mrs. Summers says. "I have to say I'm a little annoyed with the school requiring Buffy to be an escort."

"I could have taken myself out!" Dawn insists.

"I feel better if you're with someone. Oh, honey, wait a minute," she says, and she fixes a pin in Dawn's hair. "Have fun. Don't eat any unwrapped candy. Let me check it all first. Don't cross the street without looking. Use your flashlight. And, don't talk to strangers except to ask them for candy. Okay?"

"_Okay_, mom." Dawn pulls away from her mom and takes Andrew by the hand. They run down to the street together.

"Are you a princess?" Andrew asks.

Dawn nods excitedly. "This is one of Buffy's old dresses and her tiara from when she was May Queen. Isn't it pretty? And Mom let me use her makeup! But she took most of it off. Mom says she's a druid, like her friends used to be in the seventies? She had Buffy get her that wreath thing but the dress is hers, can you believe it? My mom kind of used to be cool. Did your parents dress up?"

"My parents are out of town." His dad is in L.A. and his mom is on a business trip.

"Oh. But that's cool, because that means you can go trick-or-treating! Buffy said she was too old! I don't think you can _ever_ be too old." Dawn shakes open her paper treat bag happily.

Tucker catches up. "Okay, we're doing Revello first, then Grant, then First, then Gary. The best candy is on First, so hurry up." He pokes his hand into Andrew's back again.

* * *

Somewhere on Gary, Andrew starts to feel funny. Stiff and limp at the same time.

Tucker pokes him. "Hey, Andrew, what are you--"

"--doing?" Andrew says as he falls to the ground. "Hey! What's going on?"

He fell on his arm. He tries to push himself up but he can't move at all. "Andrew?" Dawn asks.

"Andrew!" Andrew says, and Tucker covers his mouth, which isn't moving. "Oh my God. This is too fucking creepy."

Dawn looks from Andrew to Tucker. "You're ventriloquizing him! Quit it!"

Tucker shakes his head and backs away. Dawn kneels beside Andrew and rolls him over onto his back. She touches the side of his face and Andrew feels it like the mask isn't there. "Tucker! Andrew's all woody!"

Tucker runs. "This can't be happening!" Andrew says.

"Yeah it _is_ happening! Tucker!" Dawn shouts after him, but he doesn't come back.

He leaves them alone. "Oh, _man_," Dawn says.

Andrew wants to tell her to run home, but can't. He can see child-sized creatures running down the street, but the noises they're making aren't childlike at all.

"Oh, boy," Dawn breathes. She looks around, then grabs Andrew's arm and the collar of his jacket and drags him by heaves and jerks across someone's lawn. She sets him down and he hears her unlatch a fence gate, then she drags him again and latches the fence behind them.

She pulls his head into her lap. Then they wait. He wishes he could tell her thank you and that things would be all right. "This isn't real!" he says instead. "I'm waking up! I'm waking up!"

"Shut up, Tucker, you big jerk," Dawn replies.

* * *

They wait. They wait almost forever, while things make weird noises outside the fence.

"When I was little?" Dawn whispers, "And we still lived in LA? We had this huge house, because my parents were still together. It was way bigger than Mom's. Buffy and me had really huge rooms, and hers was yellow and mine was pink. And we used to fight a lot? Until, um--"

Andrew hears a rustle in the bushes and Dawn stops talking and hugs him close. She breathes into his ear, fast and scared.

After a long time, there isn't any more noise nearby. Dawn sniffles and tugs Andrew into a different place on her lap. "Anyway, um--this one day, like two years ago, I left my window open all night because it was really nice out. So I went to sleep? And in the middle of the night, I woke up because I heard these noises. And I turned on the lamp, and it was millions and millions of little tiny bats, and I screamed _really_ loud."

Dawn tucks her hair behind her ear and brushes a bug off Andrew's face. "So, Buffy came running in first, and she looked at the bats, and she threw the blankets over my head and stood on my bed hitting them with a broom screaming 'you'll never eat my sister, you stupid vampire bats!' until Mom and Dad woke up. So I wasn't surprised when I found out she's the Slayer, because she was always, you know, _like_ that."

It must be great, having Buffy for a sister. He wishes _he_ had a sister like Buffy instead of stupid lamer Tucker.

She folds up, hugging him again. "I wish I knew where she was," Dawn says softly.

Andrew wants to tell her that she's probably fighting the evil and saving them all.

"But she's probably out fixing stuff," Dawn says. "And she'll come find us when she's done."

Dawn holds him for a long while, as demons and monsters squabble outside.

"Oh no, _wait_," Dawn says, "Buffy is in that Marie Antoinette costume. What if she starts making vampires, you know, eat tea and cake instead of slaying them?"

Andrew wants to say that there were Slayers in the eighteenth century too, and that vampires can't eat cake.

"Stupid Buffy! I hate her _and_ stupid Angel for being all in love and stupid!" Huge tears roll off her nose onto Andrew's forehead.

He really wishes he could hold her back, enough that he gives it a really hard try, just in case willpower can break the spell.

And his hand moves. His whole body jerks and he accidentally hits her chin with his head. "Ow!" Dawn yelps.

"I'm sorry!" Andrew says.

Dawn touches her chin. "You're cured!"

Andrew wiggles all his fingers and toes. "Buffy broke the spell!" he shouts.

"Oh my god!" Dawn hugs him hard.

They venture back through the gate and find a bunch of kids and a couple of grownups sitting on the curb. One guy is on a cell phone. "Honey--I don't know. I'm on Gary Street. No, I can't leave all these kids. No, look, I don't _know_."

The other guy is looking at all the blood on his costume. His hands are shaking.

"That kid lives on my street," Dawn says, pointing at one little girl in a witch costume. Her candy bucket is full of little frogs. "Jessica?" Dawn says, taking Andrew's hand and pulling him over to her. "I'm going home, do you want to come with us?"

The little girl nods. She drops her bucket and the frogs hop away, beeping and ribbiting. She takes Dawn's other hand.

* * *

"I kind of want to embroider something," Buffy says. "I remember thinking, embroidery? Fun." She's in sweat pants and a t-shirt. They're all drinking hot chocolate: Buffy and Dawn and Willow and Xander and Mr. Giles and Andrew. Mr. Giles is really quiet; he's holding his cup and staring at a picture of Buffy and Dawn on the wall. Buffy's mom is upstairs, talking to someone on the phone.

Andrew is in Buffy's sweatshirt and the pants from his horrible suit. The jacket is ruined from lying on the grass all night, which makes Andrew _really_ glad.

"I kind of want to shoot something," Xander says.

"You shot lots of things, Mr. Shooty," Willow says.

"No, I shot _near_ things. Except for non-possessed-child things like houses. Specifically, like the house across the street." Xander jerks his thumb at the window.

Buffy kneels up and looks out. "Oh. Gee. Look at that. Good thing it's vacant."

Buffy's mom comes back downstairs. "Dawn? That was Mrs. Earl, saying thank you for walking Jessica home."

"Oh. It was no big deal," Dawn says.

"I just wish I knew how I ended up in a tree," Mrs. Summers sighs.

Mr. Giles smiles a little. The others all look at each other and shrug. 

* * *

Mr. Giles drives them home: Willow, then Xander, then Andrew. They're all very quiet.

Andrew tries to think of something to say when they're alone, but mostly he's remembering being all stiff and dead. He goes inside the house without a word.

Tucker is hugging his knees on the couch. He has his dirty feet all over the cushions. Their mom is going to kill him.

Tucker takes one look at Andrew, jumps up, puts him in a headlock and gives him a noogie. Andrew stomps on Tucker's foot until Tucker yelps and lets him go; then he punches Tucker in the stomach as hard as he can.

Then they both go to bed.

* * *

"Steady. Steady. Look at the target." Mr. Giles holds Andrew's shoulders as Andrew looks down the crossbow at the school's archery target haybale. "Now shoot."

Andrew winces and pulls the trigger. The bolt lands in the ground in front of the target. Mr. Giles finally let him into the training sessions after Halloween, but he's not very good.

"You flinched as you shot. Wind it up and try it again," Mr. Giles says.

"I think--I'm probably more a thinker than an action type," Andrew says.

"Excellent defense. Tell the vampires that when they come to bleed you dry."

Andrew looks at his hand and flushes. Mr. Giles is right--the Slayer won't always be there, and with Angel mysteriously stripped of his soul and turned back to the dark side, they're all in great peril.

"I don't mean to be cruel, but we all must hold our weight. Now try again."

Andrew obediently fits another bolt in the bow.

"We come in peace!" Xander shouts behind him. Andrew tries not to jump--they were expecting the others any minute, after all. "Lower your weapons!" he says, arms held high in the air. Willow giggles beside him and Buffy almost smiles.

Oz looks like he's thinking. Oz always looks like he's thinking. He's deep like that.

Mr. Giles sighs. "Xander, you'll be sparring with Buffy. Willow, Oz, there are crossbows for you. Andrew--arms strong, legs braced, look at the target. Be the crossbow."

"Be the crossbow? Are we in an 80s training montage or a Kung Fu Zen master montage?" Xander asks as he and Buffy square off with staves.

"One has power chords. The other has gongs," Buffy says. Andrew looks at the target, narrows his eyes, pulls the trigger--and hits it! Nowhere near the center, but he hit it!

"Excellent! Keep that up," Mr. Giles says. "Willow, do you need help with the string?"

"I've got it!" Willow winches the string back. Oz, beside her, is already frowning at the target.

"Xander? You're never going to hurt me. So go ahead and try," Buffy says.

"Hey! I could get a few licks in! I have--skills and stuff!" Andrew looks over his shoulder and sees Xander take a few swings--not as clumsy as they used to be--at Buffy. Buffy ducks out of his way easily and takes a few swings at him in return.

Oz fires. "Well _done_," Mr. Giles says--Oz hit the red ring right outside the black center.

"That's a dusting for sure!" Willow says.

Oz cocks his head and regards the target. "I'm not so sure. It might just be stomach cramps."

"Willow--"

"Oh, right," she says, and she lets Mr. Giles guide her stance. She hits low in the blue circle. "Totally missed."

"Well, no. See, my shot dropped him to his knees, and yours finished him off." Oz gives her a small, secret smile, and Willow grins back.

"HAH! I am Xan-Dar the Mighty, destroyer of worlds!" Xander has Buffy down on the grass and has a foot resting lightly on her hip. "Bring to me your nubile women and high alcohol content mead--ahh!" Buffy yanks his foot off-balance and he tumbles into the grass beside you.

"I worry about you, Xander," Buffy says.

"De nada. All that's broken is my dignity and pride."

"So, nothing important, is what you're saying."

"En garde, Slayer--I'm getting them back."

Mr. Giles eyes Buffy and Xander, then turns back to Andrew, Oz and Willow. "Go ahead, then. I want a dozen bolts from each of you."

Andrew aims his crossbow and fires--still low, almost off the target. "Keep your wrists strong," Mr. Giles says.

"Maybe that's why you're so good," Willow says to Oz, "strong wrists from the guitar!"

"Eeee-YAAH! Eat hot staff, Slayer--oh that's not what I meant and ow!"

* * *

Things keep changing. There's another Slayer, Angel turned evil again, and now Oz is a creature of the night. All Andrew can do is document events for posterity: be a diligent recorder of the supernatural side of Sunnydale.

"Do you remember anything during your time as a wolf?" Andrew asks.

"Nope."

"Mm-hm." Andrew writes that down in his notebook. "Did you notice any changes to your person?"

"Got scratched up," Oz says.

"Fascinating." _Minor abrasions to skin post-incidence of transformation_, he writes. "Do you find that your taste in food has changed?"

"Yeah. I started eating red meat."

"Really?" Mr. Giles says, looking up from his book.

"Never did before--Mom has this diet thing. But it's tasty."

_Change in dietary requirements_. "Hmm," Andrew says.

"Very interesting," Mr. Giles says. "Do you know, I don't know if that is normal or not. We have no baseline for the werewolf. Good thinking, Andrew."

"Thank you, Mr. Giles," Andrew says, smiling at him and Oz.

* * *

"Did you get the mail?" Tucker asks halfway through the X-Files.

"No..."

"So, get the mail." He doesn't even look at Andrew.

"It's dark!"

"It's right _there_," Tucker says.

"You get it!"

"I'm older." He reaches over and flicks Andrew's ear, which really _hurts_.

"You suck," Andrew grumbles, but it's easier to just go get the mail than to keep arguing and right now it's a commercial. He slides off the couch and goes to the door.

The mailbox is three feet from the door, at the front of the porch. It's just--three feet.

He hasn't gone outside alone at night since he was attacked. If he asks Tucker to come with, though, Tucker will just make fun of him and refuse. And it's just--three feet.

Andrew wedges a shoe in the door so it stays open and ventures outside.

There aren't any streetlights on his block and nobody has their porch light on but him. He feels like a great big target--but if he just _moves_ he can get the mail and get back in in _one_ minute so he rushes, almost runs--

A cold hand closes on his wrist as he reaches for the mailbox. Another closes over his mouth before he can yell and Angel pulls him into his embrace. "Hey, kiddo," Angel says.

Andrew kicks wildly but it's like kicking stone--Angel doesn't budge. He yells as hard as he can, but nothing makes it past Angel's hand.

"You little girls and boys--that's all you are. Not a warrior in the lot, not even Buffy, not really. She had the chance to kill me and couldn't do it. And you? You don't even have a chance." Angel kisses his cheek and Andrew digs his nails into Angel's wrist as hard as he can.

"Ugh--you fight like a girl. _Stop_ that," Angel says. He hauls Andrew up by his chin and Andrew can't _breathe_\--

Tears run down his cheeks. He can't stop them. He can't even struggle any more, Angel has him pinned too tight. "Three feet from safety," Angel says. "You never invited me inside. We never really _spoke_, come to think of it--you were always around Giles, and really, why would I talk to _you_ when there's someone interesting available?"

He wouldn't. There's no reason.

"But now... now you're interesting." Angel presses his nose to the crook of Andrew's neck. "Nothing smells better than terror. Nothing."

And Andrew can feel Angel's face change and can _feel_ his _fangs_ against his skin and he still can't breathe--

"So--marinate for a while, boy. And remember--I can come back for you any. Time. I. Want. You and all of the Slayer's little pals."

Then Angel drops him. By the time Andrew can breathe well enough to pick himself up off the porch steps, Tucker is there in the doorway. "What the hell is going _on_?"

Andrew shoves past him and runs up to his room with the barred windows and the strong door and he pulls the covers over his head and cups his hands around his neck and shakes.

* * *

...and a half:

"Mr. Giles?" Andrew says. "This says a Romal demon can give a human super strength with its blessing."

"They can," Giles says without looking up from his book. He knows what Andrew is reading, and in fact considered it himself.

"So--"

"The human granted these powers dies after three days," Giles says.

"Oh." Giles looks up to see Andrew slumping over his book. The boy rests his head on his arms and closes his eyes.

"I'll drive you home," Giles says.

Andrew shakes his head. "We must find a solution to the great evil that is, is..." He trails off and yawns. "...rising in Sunnydale," he finishes.

Giles pats his shoulder and stands. He stretches his arms over his head, trying to pop the weariness out; failing, for the most part.

"Mr. Giles? Do you think people have a destiny?"

"Yes," Giles says. "Absolutely." He tried to run from his. He failed.

"How do you know what it is?"

"Unless there's a prophecy with your name on it, you don't."

"Oh." Andrew looks up at him with wide eyes. "Is there one for me?"

"No."

"Then how do I know what I should be doing?"

"If it's destined," Giles says, "then you _are_ doing exactly what you should be doing."

The library doors swing open. "Look who I found!" Buffy calls out.

Kendra follows her in. Oh, dear.

"I have information about the dark evil rising in Sunnydale," Kendra says. "Some dreadful thing has been dug out of the ground and the bones say that the world could end."

Giles takes off his glasses. Of course. He should have known.

Nothing good ever comes out of the ground in Sunnydale.

* * *

Kendra watches the door. Andrew walks the stacks with a crossbow held uncomfortably in his hand and fear naked on his face. Xander has the other flank and a large sword. Giles has drilled all Buffy's friends in weapon use, but none of them is anywhere near the level he himself is--and he would not pit himself against more than one vampire, not and have a reasonable hope of survival.

But time has run out for all of them. Willow sits on the table with the implements of the re-souling spell about her. Buffy will distract Angel while Willow returns his soul and if all goes well, none of them will die, excepting William the Bloody and his belle dame sans merci.

If all goes ill, the world will be cast into hell. As usual.

Giles reads out the spell: "Quod perditum est, invenietur."

Willow answers: "Not dead nor not of the living. Spirits of the interregnum I call. Let him know the pain of humanity, gods. Reach your wizened hands to me. Give me the sword..."

Giles hears Andrew's yelp before he hears the vampires' steps. He sees the children fight with all their strength--then he sees black as the vampires begin to prevail.

* * *

He wakes to Angel and his predator's smile. Drusilla, behind him, dances slowly with Andrew hanging limp in her arms like a child or a doll.

Angel tugs a cord and drops a curtain. "Don't you worry about them," he says.

* * *

"See, you get afraid," Angel says against Giles's throat. "You don't show it, which makes you a man, but you feel it, which makes you smart."

Angel's teeth brush against Giles's neck without penetrating. He has been waiting for them to penetrate, finally--terminally--for hours.

Minutes.

Time is very much subjective in this chair.

His broken bones throb and flare. Drusilla walks through the doorway with Andrew in her arms, both of them smeared with blood. Andrew is still--poor child--alive. "I saw the most marvelous things," she says. "Demons, words, all through his mind!"

Angel brushes his fingers across Giles's cheek. "You said _Giles_ knew."

Dru widens her eyes and shakes his head. "Ripper and a little Ripper, dancing back and forth," she says.

Angel turns to Giles. "Ripper--that's you?" Giles stares back and Angel smiles, needing no more confirmation. "See, I always figured--either the kid is your apprentice or you're one dirty old man. But he smells..." He pulls away from Giles and presses his nose to Andrew's neck.

"Get away from him," Giles breathes.

"Mm. Smells like a virgin. So, apprentice," Angel says. His tone turns Giles's stomach.

"He doesn't _know_ anything. Let him be."

"Get with the program, Rupert! The idea isn't to make _him_ talk, and besides--" Angel strokes Drusilla's face. His fingers idle down to Andrew's blue lips. "Drusilla doesn't _mean_ to break her toys, but she always does. Your baby boy is beyond repair--by doctors, anyway."

Angel shifts into his demon face as he smiles widely. Giles shuts his eyes.

"Not going to beg? No, no, don't do that to precious little what's-his-name?"

"Would it change your mind?"

A waxen, inhuman thumb presses his lip. "It might."

"Please," Giles says, "if you ever had compassion, let him die."

"Oh, say that again."

"Please," Giles says.

"One more time."

"Please!" He opens his eyes.

Angel leans in and kisses him. His face shifts halfway through; he pulls back slowly, scoring Giles's lip in two places, letting the blood flow free. His smile shows no compassion at all.

Drusilla cuddles Andrew's pale face to her shoulder. Angel hooks the curtain back so Giles can see her lay Andrew down on the table in the middle of the main room.

"Giles and a little Giles," Angel says, "and we do like blonds, don't we, darling?"

"Like sunshine," Drusilla says.

Blood trickles down the inside of Giles's shirt; his lip burns like fire, his hands and feet throb with every rabbit-quick beat of his heart.

Drusilla slices the skin at the base of her throat and leans over Andrew again.

* * *

The throb in his hand and the fire in his chest and the light, sharp agony in his face beat together with his heart. He's alone, blessedly alone: only him and the box on the table.

It's the death he expected.

He hopes that they will be displeased with Andrew.

He hopes that they'll stake him cleanly as a result.

He hopes that the children have devised a plan, and that they will succeed in his absence.

He hopes that Buffy's second Watcher will be better.

He hopes that Buffy will live to require a second Watcher.

Andrew bursts out of the box of earth and Drusilla runs to meet him. "Such a clever little boy! Mummy's little treasure." She clasps him to her bosom and rocks him back and forth.

"I'm dirty," Andrew says, sounding lost. "And I'm hungry."

"Plenty to eat as soon as you tell us about Acathla," Angel says.

"Acathla?" Andrew echoes dully.

Angel twists his arm. "Acathla. How do you awaken him?"

"The sword," Andrew says. Giles's heart sinks.

Angel leans in closer. "What _about_ the sword."

Andrew looks around. "Am I--am I a vampire?"

"Yes." Angel shoots a triumphant look at Giles.

"Oh." Andrew rubs at his eyes and Drusilla holds him closer.

"What's this? Making minions while the moon shines?" Spike asks from the corner. Giles hasn't seen him all night.

"Mummy's _treasure_," Dru says. "Mummy's little _doll_."

"Be a _good_ boy. Tell me how to wake Acathla--_exactly_ how--and I'll be very happy." Angel cups Andrew's cheeks in his hands and leans in, fixing the boy's eyes.

"I'm hungry," Andrew says.

Angel looks at Giles; he pulls Andrew out of Drusilla's arms and hauls him over to Giles's chair. "Smell that?"

Andrew breathes in and shifts into demon face as well. The horror is that he still resembles _himself_ in this guise; the demon scarcely makes two lines in his young face. "That's Mr. Giles," Andrew says.

"That's his blood. Aren't you hungry? Don't you want to feed?" Angel restrains Andrew in his arms.

"Fight him, Andrew," Giles says, hardly daring to hope. "Tell him _nothing_!"

Andrew blinks at him, then looks at Angel. "I can't eat Mr. Giles. I _like_ Mr. Giles. He knows stuff."

"I know more! I can teach you. But you have to tell me about Acathla first--then you feed, then you live and learn _forever_."

Andrew shakes his head. "But I like Mr. Giles more than you."

Angel grabs his throat. "_Look_, you little halfwit, you tell me what I want or I rip out your stomach and read the answer in your God damned entrails!"

"Daddy!" Drusilla takes Andrew back from Angel and kisses the top of his head. "My puppy."

"I am very sorry, Angel also known as Angelus, but I cannot be a part of your evil scheme to destroy the world," Andrew says. "I have pledged my, um, _word_ to the Slayer and her band of--" Angel backhands him across the mouth.

Drusilla doesn't object to this treatment of her toy--she is looking into Giles's eyes, smiling at him.

Then the world falls away.

He falls. He lands in his bed, with Jenny smiling at him. "Rupert..."

* * *

"Mr. Giles?"

Soft hands wipe the blood from his face. Giles opens his eyes and sees Andrew, Giles's handkerchief in hand, demon face still on. The boy's face is bruised heavily. "You told Drusilla all about Acathla. I think she had you under an evil spell, so it's not your fault," Andrew says.

"I wasn't strong enough," Giles whispers.

"Mr. Giles?" Andrew asks. "Is there a way to turn someone back from being a vampire?"

He shifts in his chair and jostles the bones in his hand; he arches backwards with electric pain. "No," he gasps out, "there's not. Your corpse--your body--is fueled by the demon now, and without the demon, you're simply dead."

"Will you tell Buffy that I kept my vow and didn't betray her to the evil vampires? I would understand if she wants to stake me anyway."

In a very short time, they'll all be dead. "Yes, Andrew."

Andrew smiles and the demon face falls away. "It's okay. Buffy's here. Everything will be okay."

"Here?" He blinks, and tries to listen around the ringing in his ears. "Where?"

"I can hear her. I can hear a lot now that I'm a vampire, and my sense of smell has completely changed. It's very interesting. I'll have to write it down for posterity. Buffy just killed a vampire outside." Andrew suddenly looks over his shoulder.

"Come to Mummy," Drusilla says, beckoning. "I'll call you Sunshine, my puppy Sunshine."

Andrew shakes his head. "No, Miss Drusilla, my name is Andrew. I'm a person and not a puppy."

"Don't be a bad puppy. Come with Mummy and you can have a lovely treat." She wiggles her fingers but Andrew shakes his head stubbornly.

He seems--exactly the same. Can he have such a weak demon that it's left his conscience untouched? Or is it simply so clever that it knows how to stay alive?

He's in too much pain to think. All he can see right now is that Andrew is standing between him and a master vampire. Unfair as it is, he's profoundly grateful for this.

"If you are a bad puppy I shall put a leash on you and your name shall be Wormwood instead," Drusilla says.

"You're very confused. I'm not a good puppy _or_ a bad puppy."

And Spike rolls up behind Drusilla. "Time to chant, pet."

"My puppy should chant." She pouts.

Spike casts a disdainful glare at Andrew. "_Puppy_ can wait in the corner with the Watcher. _We_ are running out of time." He takes her skirt, tugs her along.

Giles passes out.

* * *

"Andrew! And Giles! You're alive!"

"Mr. Giles is hurt really bad," Andrew says. "I untied him. Is it safe to flee?"

Giles opens his eyes. "Xander?"

"We have to get you gone," Xander says, leaning over him. "Can you walk?"

"I..." He wiggles his toes and his fingers and finds that his hands are untied, and also that the pain of motion is blinding. "No," he whispers.

"I can carry him. I'm very strong now." Andrew's hands upon him--oh God, it hurts, but it's the only way. Andrew takes him into his arms.

"They turned you," Xander says softly.

"Yes, but--I don't think I'm an _evil_ vampire. It's very confusing." Andrew's skin is harder, scentless and chilled.

Giles can barely hold his head up, but he can open his eyes. "Xander, he didn't..."

"Yeah. I hear you, Giles," Xander says. He looks sadder, older to Giles's watering eyes. He rips the curtain from the doorway and holds it out to Andrew. "It's day. I don't want you setting Giles on fire."

"Thank you, Xander," Andrew says as Giles passes out again.

* * *

In the morphine dreams, he thinks he sees Buffy, leaning over him and saying goodbye.

* * *

Xander, Willow, Cordelia and Oz are leaning over him like a four-petaled flower. "Giles! You're awake!" Xander says.

"I suppose?"

"You're awake! And you sound like Giles!" Willow burbles.

"May I have some water?"

The children look around. "There's a machine in the lobby. I can get water," Cordelia says.

"Thank you."

Willow looks rather pale. "And I can--ooh," she says as her knees buckle. Oz catches her.

"Maybe we should re-smuggle you into bed. Like reimportation of drugs over the Canadian border," Oz says.

Willow is very pale under her bandage. "Okay."

Oz nods to Xander and carries her back out.

"Where's Andrew?"

"Your place," Xander says. "Hiding from the sun. I didn't tell anyone yet. Giles--"

"He protected me to the best of his abilities. He did not drink from me, though Angel beat him for his disobedience. He didn't tell Angel of Acathla's ritual, and I _did_."

Xander doesn't flinch. "He's still a vampire craving the blood of the innocent. And--stuff."

"Right now he _is_ the innocent." Giles coughs--his throat is still swollen--and Xander hands him a tissue. "Unless he kills..."

"Until he kills."

"If he attacks anyone, we must kill him. But if he doesn't, then he's simply a boy with a sun allergy."

Xander rubs his forehead. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

And Cordelia returns with the bottle of water, so Xander squeezes his shoulder and nods.

These children... Jenny. He can't bear to lose another to Angel if he doesn't have to.

Which is when he realizes: "Where's Buffy?"

Xander and Cordelia exchange glances. "Her mom wants to know that, too," Xander says.

* * *

After night falls, Andrew sneaks in. Giles sees Xander's blue-shadowed face peering through the cracked door as Andrew sits beside him.

"Are you feeling better, Mr. Giles?" Andrew asks.

"I'll heal." Broken fingers, cracked shins, cracked ribs, stitches in his lip and chest

Andrew looks down at his hands. "When my fingers were bitten I was in the hospital for a long time. They had to do a lot of surgery, and in the end, I still didn't have any fingers. I looked for a spell to make me not a vampire any more, but every place I looked said it couldn't be done without me dying."

"No. I'm so sorry, Andrew..." He was the adult, it was his _duty_ to protect the children--and he couldn't. He couldn't. In the end, Buffy had to save them all, again.

She may be--

She may have been sucked into the portal. He closes his eyes for a long moment.

She may be dead.

"Mr. Giles, I'm so hungry," Andrew whispers under his breath. "I ate and ate but I'm still starving."

Still an innocent. Giles takes a deep breath. "There's a butcher on First that sells blood after hours--do you know the one?" Andrew nods. "You can live on the blood of animals--that's no different than eating a steak. If you live on animals and keep your--your vow to the Slayer--then you can be..."

"Be a good guy?"

"Yes," Giles says. Andrew puts his head down on the bed beside him and smiles happily.

Xander still watches through the crack in the door.

* * *

...and three quarters:

Andrew can tell that Xander packed the bags of clothes and Mr. Giles packed the boxes of books, because his books are sorted carefully by size and wedged with brown craft paper while his clothes are tossed in black trash bags at random. But that's fine. That's how it should be. He has some really great books, like an edition of "Star Trek: Final Frontier" by Diane Carey in Russian.

He can almost read it without looking at the dictionary now. Studying is a lot easier now that he's a vampire. It's like something just fell away in his head and now he can _think_ so much clearer.

He puts the books away by subject. Mr. Giles got him four bookshelves; they cover a whole wall of his new room. He's living with Mr. Giles now, in the basement of the new house he's renting.

It's really, really great. They get weekly blood deliveries from the butcher, there are light-blocking curtains on all the windows, and he gets to study with Mr. Giles every _day_. He bets he doesn't even have to go to school any more, since he's dead.

It's kind of easy being a vampire. You don't _have_ to hunt people and kill them, even though he doesn't have a soul or anything. Xander mentioned maybe cursing Andrew with a soul like Angel, but Mr. Giles didn't want to risk untested magic on Andrew when he's still an innocent.

Andrew likes the way Mr. Giles says things. He wishes _he_ were English.

He hears footsteps overhead and creeps up the basement stairs to listen at the door.

"--still _missing_," Dawn says.

"I know," Mr. Giles says.

"Xander and Willow don't come around any more," Dawn says, "and Andrew is totally gone. His brother said he ran away."

"Buffy will come back."

"What if she doesn't? I miss her!"

"I know. I do too."

Dawn sniffles. Chairs scrape around. "The others are starting to patrol," Mr. Giles says. "Just while Buffy is gone. I can show you how to make stakes and crossbow bolts. You could be a big help."

"Buffy's going to miss my birthday."

"I'm sorry, Dawn. I have an investigator on the case--I only wish I could search for her myself."

"I think Mom's going to forget about my birthday."

It's quiet then. Andrew creeps back downstairs to finish unpacking.

Maybe they could go look for Buffy, just him and Dawn and Mr. Giles. Mr. Giles is still healing, but Andrew could drive if Mr. Giles taught him how and got him a fake license. It would be like a road trip with magic and scones. It would be great, even if they never found her.

Andrew grins and shelves Malegg's Demonology.

* * *

Andrew sits cross-legged on his bed and concentrates on his sage.

It's hard. The sun is out and it makes him ache in ways he doesn't really understand. It makes him sleepy, too; maybe he should just go back to bed.

He's slept all day, though, and he really wants to try this out, try out his new vampire powers. He thinks he must have more magical power now that he's a supernatural creature.

"Herb of green, be unseen," he chants. It's the first exercise in Willow's favorite grimoire. "Herb of green, be unseen. Herb of green, be unseen."

It's supposed to _work_ if he has any power at all. He checks the book: it says if simple wishing doesn't work, try a drop of blood on the sage to augment your power.

Andrew shifts into his demon face and nicks a finger on a fang. He shakes his blood over the herb.

"Herb of green, be--" The sage vanishes.

Wow. It's not supposed to work until he says that three times.

He brings his finger to his mouth to suck and notices that _it_ is invisible too. It looks like he only has _two_ fingers on his right hand instead of _three_\--but he can feel the finger, it's still there!

"Herb of green, now be seen!" he says. The sage pops back into visibility. So does his finger.

Weird.

Kind of creepy.

Andrew doesn't really like magic.

"Hey," Oz says. Andrew yelps and jumps about a foot. "Sorry," Oz says.

"It's okay. I just didn't see you," Andrew gasps.

"I thought I smelled vampire." Oz pauses. Andrew looks at him. "And, I smelled vampire," Oz says.

Mr. Giles and Xander are the only ones who know. This is an important step, Andrew thinks, and it's very important that Oz not kill him. "Mr. Giles knows about it. I've been good and I haven't bit anyone," Andrew says.

"That's cool," Oz says.

"I think I could be like Angel without the evil parts," Andrew says. "It's very exciting."

"If you touch Willow I'll tear your head off with my teeth," Oz says, "just so you know."

"Okay." Andrew says.

"Everyone's upstairs. You should hang."

"Okay." 

He follows Oz up, and then up again. Willow and Xander are hanging around in Mr. Giles's bedroom--Mr. Giles is in bed with an ice pack over his eyes.

"Andrew! You're here! And not gone!" Willow says.

"Dead, though," Oz says. "New development."

Willow's mouth goes round. Xander looks at the floor. "Oh," Willow says.

"Impressive non-reaction." Oz is looking at Xander.

Xander looks up. "Knew already." He looks really pale and smells kind of sick, like puke. Mr. Giles smells sick too, like medicine and pain, and Willow smells like blood from the healing wound on her head. It all makes Andrew's nose itch and his head swim.

"Has anyone heard from Buffy?" Willow asks in a tiny voice. "Or where she went?"

"No," Mr. Giles says softly.

"No," Xander says, looking at the wall this time.

"We could try a scrying spell. I read about them," Andrew says. "They're easy."

Mr. Giles shifts the ice pack from his eyes. "Dangerous. You can see things you don't want to."

"I'm ready," Andrew promises.

Mr. Giles moves the ice pack back. "All right."

That was easy. Andrew runs to find a bowl before Mr. Giles changes his mind.

According to the book, scrying is the easiest thing in the world. All you need is a bowl, water, and something to cast in the water to make patterns. His book says blood is the most powerful. Andrew fills an aluminum mixing bowl half full of water and carries it carefully back up the stairs.

He puts the bowl on the nightstand and shifts into his demon face. Willow breathes in sharply and her scent sharpens when he changes; Xander looks away. Andrew brings his left hand to his mouth to tear into a vein.

"Right hand. You're right-handed, it'll lend more power," Mr. Giles says absently.

"Okay." Andrew bites his right hand instead and lets thick drops ooze into the water. He smells kind of like pig now, from the blood.

Mr. Giles sits up abruptly. "Oh, no! No, Andrew, you should never--"

"I see something!" Andrew cries. He thinks he sees Buffy's face.

"--with the shape of your hand, the symbol..." Mr. Giles trails off. "What do you see? Is she alive?"

Willow and Xander crowd in next to him. Oz stands on the chair and looks over their heads. "Cool," Oz says.

"I see a bed! Buffy in a bed! In a room! She's alive!"

Xander smiles. "Yeah. That's Buff all right."

"A room where? Can you see an address? Sometimes there are words, look for words."

Andrew shakes his head. The swirls of blood are fuzzing out. "No words, Mr. Giles."

"Distinguishing features!" Mr. Giles sits up and gasps; he holds his side and rolls back down to the pillow again.

"It's just a room. But she's alive," Xander says.

"It was motelly," Oz says.

Andrew can't see anything any more. He frowns and touches the water to stir it up--then yelps and flings himself backwards, because it's boiling hot. Willow and Xander scream and cover their faces as the bowl boils violently over and blood-scented steam fills the air.

The bowl ticks and smokes on the nightstand. Andrew sucks on his burnt thumb.

"I think we'll try more traditional means next time," Mr. Giles says, "and Andrew--draw blood from the left from now on, all right?"

"Okay, Mr. Giles," Andrew says, even though--it _worked_.


	3. Chapter 3

Three:

Andrew walks toward the other vampire in the alley. "Hey, I'm, like, new in town? And? A vampire? Like you."

The vampire eyes him. "Hey--Andrew? Andrew Wells? Weren't you in my English class?"

"Christian? Wow. I didn't recognize you with the face on." Andrew shifts to his own demon face and gestures.

Christian grins, showing off his fangs. "Oh, man. This is so much better than being a high school loser. We get to stay up all night and hunt and kill and hey!" He points at Andrew and Andrew puts on his listening face. "Did you know the Slayer is out of town? I just heard. Some guys are talking about, you know, taking over the place."

"Really? I might like to meet them," Andrew says. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and tries not to bounce up and down with excitement.

"I don't know... they're _tough_, you know? You're kind of little." Christian looks Andrew up and down. "Maybe if you bring them something to eat? I think I hear some kids around the corner."

Andrew glances back at the mouth of the alley nervously. "Well, maybe--um--GUYS!"

Oz and Xander block the mouth of the alley. Willow and Cordelia pop up on the rooftops and peg Christian with a crossbow. "Oh, uncool," Christian groans as he dusts.

"Was I okay? This was my first time being a _double agent_," Andrew says to Xander. "Did I do all right? Was I convincing?"

Xander pats his shoulder. "Right up to the part where you didn't go kill innocent people--and _that_ verisimilitude we can do without."

"You could work on the motivation," Oz says. "Try some Method acting. Role-play."

"No! No, no method. Fangs out of the neck," Xander says.

Andrew nods. "No fangs in neck. Check."

"I hit him! With my crossbow! Did you see?" Willow shouts from the roof.

"No, that was totally my bolt," Cordelia says.

"Was not!"

"I marked it with my nail polish, 'White Witch'!"

Willow gasps. "You can't make fun of my code name! It's official Slayer code!"

"Okay! Guys!" Xander calls up. "Let's try the Bronze!"

"I'll work on my _double agent_ act," Andrew says. "I think I can do it better." He nods to himself.

* * *

  
"Human-lover!" the other vamp snarls at him. "You rent yourself out? They give you a nice piece of neck?"

Andrew wrestles the vampire frantically. He looks over at Xander, but Xander is fighting a vampire of his own and the others had to go around when the vamps shut the gate. The vampires have them pinned down and they're so going to die and that makes _twice_ in one year for Andrew.

Andrew growls and kicks the vamp in the knee, making him yelp, then he throws the vamp into the Dumpster and pulls the stake from his belt and dusts the vampire attacking Xander.

"Behind you!" Xander says as the first vamp jumps on Andrew's back.

"Traitor! Uncle Tom! Pussy!" The vampire claws at Andrew's face as Andrew tries to shake him off. Then the vampire lets go--but he grabs Andrew's left arm and twists it up behind him so hard a bone in his forearm snaps.

Andrew screams and falls to his knees. It hurts, it really _really_ hurts, oh man does it hurt...

"Hey!" He sees Willow, Oz and Cordelia run into the alley, straight into a girl vampire, and Xander squares off with the vamp that hurt Andrew.

Then someone somersaults over the gate. One vampire dusts, then the other.

"Hey, guys," Buffy says.

Andrew squeezes his eyes shut against the pain. There's bone sticking through his skin--he can smell the blood oozing through his sleeve. It hurts so much he wants to puke.

"Buffy!" The others gather around her, except Xander, who gives Andrew a hand up. "You're back! You're not dead!" Willow squeaks.

"Of course I'm not dead," Buffy says.

"But you were gone so long--oof!" Willow makes tiny breathy noises as Buffy hugs her.

Andrew leans against Xander. "You going to pass out?" Xander asks.

"Maybe," Andrew whispers.

"Xander? Hi!" Buffy says. "And Andrew... Xander, back away."

"What?" Xander says.

"Xander, they got him. Back away!" Buffy raises her fists; Andrew tenses to run away.

Xander puts his arm around Andrew's shoulders and helps him down the alley. Andrew looks at the ground. "No, actually, Angel got him."

"...What?"

"Angel got him. Three months ago." And Xander walks Andrew  right past Buffy and down the street a little.

"It's the Slayer's prerogative to stake vampires," Andrew says to Xander.

"Given that she _dated_ the guy who turned you, I don't think Buffy can be real righteous about this one and holy moly, is that _blood_?" Xander touches his arm and Andrew yelps. "Okay," Xander says. "Stay here."

Andrew stays put as Xander fishes change out of his pockets. He wonders what would happen if he bled out all the blood in his body.

"Hey!" Buffy says as she marches out of the alley. "What are you talking about?"

Xander looks at her. The others lag behind in the alley and watch. "Angel turned Andrew into a vampire! It's just one of the many things you don't know because you ran away and left us to deal with everything, okay?" Xander's mouth twists up and he jerks the handset of the pay phone off the bracket.

Buffy's mouth is open but she's not talking.

"We're all glad to see you!" Willow says.

"Yeah, we're thrilled," Xander says, and dials. "Mr. Giles? We need you to come get us. A vampire broke Andrew's arm really bad. We're right near the Bronze, on Third."

Xander hangs up. He nudges Andrew and they sit on the curb.

"So what does he eat?" Buffy says. "Vampire chow?"

"Pig blood from Brodnor's Butcher Shop and Sausage Emporium."

"He makes an otter blend that's really good," Andrew whispers. Xander puts his arm around Andrew's shoulders again and Andrew holds his elbow and stares at the road.

Buffy stands over them, behind Andrew's back. "What happened to faster Angel, kill, kill?"

Xander jerks. "What happened? _Angel_ made Giles his punching bag and Andrew is the one who helped me rescue him before he _died_. So there's good vampires and then, in the other corner, there's your boyfriend!"

"Xander!" Willow shouts.

Andrew hears running steps. "Now she's gone again!" Willow says.

"So what?" Xander says.

"Come on," Oz says softly, and the rest all follow Buffy.

Xander sits with Andrew as the others leave and Mr. Giles pulls up. "Can you get him in the car, Xander?" Mr. Giles asks. He's still on crutches.

"Yeah, I've got him. Come on," Xander says, helping Andrew into the car. Andrew makes a face and tries to be brave like Mr. Giles.

* * *

  
Andrew slurps hot blood through a straw. Getting his arm fixed was easy--he passed out when they brought him inside and woke up afterwards, nice and dreamy on pain pills. He loooooves pain pills. He got them after his fingers were bitten off too.

Xander sits at the table at the front window with his head on his arms; Andrew thought maybe he heard him crying, but he must have been mistaken.

Mr. Giles is writing everything down in his little book. He's keeping notes on Andrew for the edification of future Watchers and Slayers.

Xander still hasn't told Mr. Giles that Buffy is back. Andrew wonders why.

There's a knock on the door. Xander jumps up and answers it. "Willow! Tell Buffy that I didn't mean it, okay?"

Mr. Giles drops his pen. "Buffy?"

"But you did mean it," Willow says.

"But just in the run-at-the-mouthy way, not the go-away-Buffy way!"

"Buffy?" Mr. Giles repeats, a little louder.

Andrew cranes his neck and sees Willow step into the house. "Buffy!" Xander says. "Me! Dumb! Mouth go zoom! Too much missing Buffy makes Xander stupid in the head."

Buffy comes in, smelling salty like tears, and they hug. Mr. Giles grabs his crutch and gets to his feet and Buffy runs over and everyone hugs and cries and stuff.

Andrew finishes his blood and wonders if he should cry too.

Oz sits next to him on the couch. "Your blood smells like bacon," he says. "I never noticed that before."

"It's the pig," Andrew says.

"It's appetizing in a distressing way." Oz picks up the empty mug, sniffs it and licks at the residue on the inside.

"Ew," Cordelia says.

Oz puts the mug down. "I think that's a habit I don't want to pick up." He looks at Mr. Giles and the others, who are still hugging and bonding and saying tearful half-sentencey things.

"Do they have low-calorie blood for girl vamps watching their weight?" Cordelia asks.

"You don't change at all from the time you're turned," Andrew says. "Except, um, your skin clears up." He was really really really grateful for that one.

"Seriously? So if you're at your ideal weight you stay there until the end of time?"

Andrew nods.

"But no reflection," Cordelia says. "Though I guess you could hire someone to do your hair..."

"Tanning would be an issue," Oz says.

"Oh, you're right. Andrew can do the pale thing, because he's blond? But for me self-tanners just will _not_ do." She crosses her hands decisively.

Oz looks at Andrew. "And the rise of Master Cordelius is prevented by the inadequacy of cosmetics."

"Hm?" Willow sits in Oz's lap. She rests her streaky face on his shoulder.

Xander hugs Cordelia. She frowns and fiddles with his hair.

"I'll put some tea on," Mr. Giles says. He limps toward the kitchen.

"I'll help!" Buffy says, and follows him into the kitchen. Andrew watches her, but she doesn't look at him.

* * *

  
His arm itches on the inside. Andrew rubs his upper arm and tries to will the feeling down the bones to the healing break.

There's a knock on the basement door, so Andrew goes upstairs and it's Dawn, standing there in a pink shirt looking mad. "You didn't run away!" she says.

"No?"

She kicks him in the shins. He barely feels it. "You're a vampire!" she says.

"Yeah."

"You missed my birthday!"

"Well, you missed _mine_!" Andrew says.

Dawn looks from side to side and cups her hands around her mouth. "Have you killed anyone yet?" she whispers.

Andrew shakes his head. "I'm a good vampire, dedicated to the crusade against evil."

"Oh." She looks a little disappointed. "Do you want to watch some MTV?"

"Sure."

Dawn gets them both Cokes from the fridge and they lay down on the carpet and watch a rockumentary on Sting.

Later, Dawn paints Andrew's nails purple and writes her name on his bandages with the polish. She's trying to talk him into painting his toenails when Buffy and Mr. Giles show up.

"Dawn! Where have you been?"

"Here, with Andrew, like a million times before!"

Buffy glances at Andrew. "Well, the _other_ million times you didn't have to walk a mile in the dark and you told Mom so she didn't freak out!"

"It's eight blocks! And I told Mom! I said I was going out," Dawn protests.

"Mom said no you are _not_ going out and thought you heard her. Come on, we're going." Buffy grabs Dawn and pulls her to her feet.

Dawn looks back at Andrew. "Come over soon!"

"Maybe when my arm feels better," Andrew says.

"Dawn!" Buffy hisses, too low for a human to overhear. "That's an invitation. He's a vampire!"

"You're always invited to our place!" Dawn yells as Buffy pulls her out the door.

"Dawn!"

Mr. Giles raises his eyebrows at Andrew. "You're very colorful tonight."

"Oz paints his nails. It's a cool-guy thing."

"I suppose. Let me see how your arm is doing." Mr. Giles limps over the couch; he just stopped using the crutches.

Andrew puts his arm in Mr. Giles's lap. "It itches like crazy."

"That'll be the healing process. Don't scratch."

"I _can't_ scratch--the bandages are too tight and it hurts whenever I move them."

"Yes, so don't move them," Mr. Giles says. He unwraps the bandage from Andrew's arm slowly. There are small smears of blood on the cloth.

The skin is pink from the healing scar and his arm feels delicate, still, but it's way better than it was. "Two more days, I think. Remarkable," Mr. Giles says. He looks at the bandage. "Dawn was aware this wasn't a cast, wasn't she?"

Andrew shrugs.

"I want you to try something. Do you know the Bonewives' cleaning incantation?"

Andrew nods and holds the bandage. "Return to the original, the, uh, basal state, equal and serene--equal and serene--equal and serene." Nothing happens.

"Hm. Now try Haworth's cleanser."

"Is that blood magic?"

"Yes."

"My body burns you clean," Andrew says, and the blood on the bandage ignites.

"Quietus!" Mr. Giles says. The bandage douses itself again. "Well. Andrew, you must never use this magic but for the direst need. It's immensely powerful; blood magic taps into the most primal chaos. You must be very careful."

Andrew nods solemnly. "I will be."

"Good man." Mr. Giles pats him on the shoulder. "Now fetch me another bandage--this one's burnt."

* * *

  
...and a quarter:

Andrew is curled on the couch watching "The Prisoner," a copy of Crislock's Compendium annotated by Ausleigh open in his lap. He was looking up stuff about ancient vampires but he got distracted. It's the one where Number Six campaigns for Number Two.

"Oh, the campaign," Mr. Giles says. "I quite like this one." He leans his book on the back of the couch and watches for a few moments.

"What language is the girl speaking?"

"Well, she's--" Mr. Giles clears his throat. "No, we must remain focused. Please turn it off for now."

Andrew sighs a little and turns off the television. "I haven't been able to find anything." He's strictly in research now, not field work--Buffy doesn't seem to want him out with her.

It's good that way. She has her friends and now the other Slayer. Andrew likes being with Mr. Giles.

"No; Kakistos is mentioned primarily in Carysine, and--let's not worry about Carysine."

Andrew looks down at his book, then up at Mr. Giles. "If I'm not going to find anything in the books, why can't I watch TV?"

"Because it's unseemly to be enjoying ourselves while the Slayers are risking their lives."

"Oh." It makes sense. Andrew starts reading again.

"Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, please."

Mr. Giles is filling the kettle when there's a knock on the door. Andrew starts to get up, but Mr. Giles waves him back down and gets it himself.

"We killed Kakistos. We require diet soda," Buffy says.

Mr. Giles lets Buffy and another girl inside--obviously the new Slayer, Faith. She looks tough. "I have tea on," Mr. Giles says.

Buffy makes a face. Faith eyes Andrew up and down, lingering on his missing fingers. Andrew hugs the book to his chest.

"There's soda in the fridge," Mr. Giles says, "stop pouting at me. And yes, I know Andrew is a vampire."

"Really," Faith says as Buffy and Mr. Giles go in the kitchen. She hops up to sit on the back of the couch. "Vampire? Want me to slay him for you?"

Andrew shrinks back into the couch cushions and hugs the book tighter. Mr. Giles says, "Kindly don't. He's the best researcher of the group."

"Andrew's harmless. He lives in the basement. Sometimes he makes cookies," Buffy says. She hands Faith a can of Diet Coke and opens one herself.

"No _grr_?" Faith makes finger-fangs in front of her mouth.

"No, I don't bite people," Andrew says. Sitting so close to her makes him want to hide under something--it's probably some ancestral reaction from his vampire blood.

He can smell the dust of the other vampire on her skin. He can smell her skin, too.

"You burn up in daylight _and_ you don't get to chow down on the blood of virgins? Sucks to be you."

Andrew digs his chin into the top of the book and looks down at his shoes. He's having little flashes of Faith ripped into a million teeny Slayer chunks--that must be the demon half of him that he mostly has suppressed through not drinking human blood.

Being around Buffy isn't like this. It's very confusing. "I help in the fight against evil. My special vampire abilities are very helpful when I help," he whispers.

Mr. Giles comes out of the kitchen with a full tea tray. He looks at Andrew and jerks his chin slightly toward the table; Andrew gets up and runs over, book clamped to his chest like armor.

"Aw, you don't have to run, baby! I'm not going to hurt you," Faith calls after him.

"It's the innate ancestral fear of my people for the Slayer," Andrew says. He sits cross-legged on the chair and fights down the demon: he _is_ good, he _isn't_ in danger, he _doesn't_ have to fight. He doesn't want to fight. He wants... some tea.

Andrew takes a deep breath, even though he doesn't need to.

Buffy sits on the couch with Faith; she sips her soda and looks at Mr. Giles, not Andrew.

"Wow," Faith says, "Sunnydale is wackier than I thought. Your best friend is dating a werewolf, your Watcher's got a pet vampire. What next--is your little sis a demon?"

"Tell us of Kakistos," Mr. Giles breaks in. "How did you kill him?"

Buffy shrugs. Faith shrugs. "Big stake through the heart," Buffy says.

"He was big and he was ugly but vampires all go _poof_ the same way," Faith says, looking at Andrew. "No offense."

Andrew shivers and drinks a big mouthful of tea. "None taken."

* * *

  
Andrew wanders upstairs a little after sunset, reading about werewolves. It's almost time for Oz's change. It seems like he should just be able to _not_ change, though, like Andrew can _not_ drink human blood; it wouldn't be fair for Andrew to be free of his evil self and Oz not, since Oz is all brilliant and musical and creative and good-looking and _cool_.

"When the man becomes the wolf his better faculties are overcome and he is entirely animal," Andrew reads out. He turns the corner into the living room and drops the book, because Faith is standing right there, pawing through Mr. Giles's box of amulets.

She looks up. "Hey," she says. "I was looking for you."

"Me?" It's kind of a squeak. He tries again in a more manly register: "Me, Slayer?"

"Yeah, you." Faith straightens up and watches as Andrew picks his book up off the floor. "Buffy said you guys spar sometimes."

"Sometimes I help her train. I use my vampire abilities for the cause of good," Andrew says.

She coughs out a little laugh. "So let's go."

"Go what?"

"Go spar."

"I'm not supposed to do that without Mr. Giles."

"What?" Faith asks, ruffling his hair. "You think you're gonna hurt _me_? Because you're not, baby."

He's not really sure why. It doesn't matter. "I'm not supposed to do that without Mr. Giles," he repeats, because he's sure he's right. Mr. Giles said not to use the training equipment alone.

"Come _on_! I'm the Slayer, make me better!" She throws a punch at his head and he ducks.

Faith grins. She kicks at him and he catches her foot in midair, hanging on to it long enough to throw her off-balance; Mr. Giles taught him all these counter-moves for Buffy's training. Mr. Giles only has a human strength and speed, so Andrew is more useful for real-life training scenarios.

Buffy always beats him--she _always_ shoves the foamy Nerf stake into his heart. She's the Slayer. A Slayer. Sunnydale's Slayer, more powerful than any of Sunnydale's vampires.

Faith wobbles onto her hand and Andrew pulls her leg toward him. She loses her balance completely, falling on her butt, and Andrew backs away. "We shouldn't be fighting downstairs," Andrew says, "we might break something."

"There's no _rules_ in a _fight_," Faith says, and then she flips herself back onto her feet. "I thought vampires had balls!"

Andrew backs away. "I've got, um, balls," he says. He not quite sure what to do--stop fighting? Mr. Giles will be furious if they break anything.

"Come on! Come at me!" Faith says. "I want to see what you've got!"

"I think this is wrong. There's a sparring area upstairs that we should be using. We can go up there if you don't touch anything." Andrew points behind her.

Faith kicks his hand to the side, sending a jolt of pain down his arm. She knocked his _finger_ out of joint on his _bad hand_, the stupid b-- He slaps his hand over his mouth as the pain brings his demon face out. "Yeah," Faith says, "that's more like it!"

He cups his right hand in his left and pushes the finger back into joint and snarls. Faith grins at him, bouncing on her toes, fists at the ready.

She's ready high so he darts in low; she shifts to kick him again and he hits her thigh with his shoulder, knocking her almost upside down against the cabinets. She pivots on her hand and kicks him in the stomach with her other foot, then rights herself as he staggers backwards.

Faith charges _him_ then and he tries to roll behind the couch to escape it, but she's way ahead of him and he ends up with her sitting on his chest pinning his crossed arms. He's got no leverage; he can't move. "You win," Andrew says.

"Of course I win. I'm a Slayer." Faith grins.

She doesn't let him go. "Can I get up?" Andrew asks.

"What's the rush? Got your big exciting _books_ to get back to?"

Andrew nods. "They're very important."

"Wow. I bet you want to be a librarian when you grow up, just like Mr. Giles."

Andrew still has a pair of reading glasses by his bed. He's never _really_ needed them, but they make him look smarter. Like Mr. Giles. "I don't get to grow up. I'm a vampire. I'm always going to be the same age."

"How old?"

"Sixteen," Andrew says, fibbing only a little. He was fifteen when he was turned so _really_ he'll be fifteen forever, but his sixteenth birthday was a few months ago.

"Me too," Faith says. She's still holding his hands down. "We've got a lot in common," she says.

Andrew widens his eyes. "Do you think so? I think we have a destiny, that there's a higher plan to me getting turned and stuff? Like I was called like the Slayers were to be another fighter in the war against--"

Faith kisses him. Her hands slip up to his shoulders as she sinks down against him and _his_ hands are still crossed over his chest, so he's feeling her chest against his skin. She's kind of soft and squishy. He didn't think Slayers would feel like that. "Sure, we have plenty in common. Don't you just love a fight?" Faith says against his lips. She bites his lower lip gently and kisses him again.

She pulls back and looks at him. She's starting to frown. "No?" Andrew says. "I'm more cerebral--I prefer solving problems through words. But I like kissing." He thinks he likes kissing. This is the first time.

"You're supposed to kiss back," Faith says.

"Sorry! I've never done this before." She keeps moving against him and it's very distracting. Her chest is all squishy and her hips are all hard and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

Faith sits up and scowls. "I _know_ it's not me," she says. She moves her hips against--over his hips. She's kind of--she's--Andrew's very confused.

"Oh my God!" Faith breaks out in peals of laughter. "You're so gay! Look at you!"

What? "What? I'm not gay!" He doesn't know what she _means_, what isn't  
he _doing_?

"Little _Jimmy_ isn't coming _out_ to _play_," Faith half-growls, half-laughs as she twists her hips against his for emphasis. Andrew can feel himself blushing--it makes his head swim, and makes him want to growl. He pushes backwards on his hands.

"I'm not gay! It's a bad time--I wasn't expecting that!" He feels hot all over his body. It's _not_ making him--getting him--she's not making him excited. But that _doesn't_ mean he's gay--he's just _not_.

Faith grins. "It's okay, baby! I'm down with that!"

Andrew loses his demon face in a hot rush of blood. He jumps to his feet, grabs the book on werewolves from the floor, and runs down the basement steps, slamming the door after him. He's not gay. He can't be gay. This is all a huge misunderstanding.

Andrew tosses himself into bed and pulls the blanket over his head and _doesn't_ cry.

He thinks about girls. He thinks about kissing Faith.

He's so not gay. Faith is just mean. And a Slayer. So he _can't_ like her, it's against his nature.

Andrew hugs the pillow to his chest and scowls ferociously.

* * *

  
Mr. Giles frowns. "I do wish we didn't have to confine you here," he says to Oz, "but the walls at the house are old plaster and won't hold a bolt."

"Kennel?" Oz asks.

"Yes, I'm looking into it." Mr. Giles takes his glasses off and taps them against his mouth. "Perhaps a zoo supply house... they must exist."

Technically Andrew isn't supposed to be on school property since he's dead and therefore not a student, but he _really_ doesn't want to be alone at the house unless he knows for sure Faith won't be there. He doesn't want to give her another chance to--be mean to him. He tagged along under a blanket after school let out.

Oz sits in the chair next to Andrew and they both look at the cage. "I wish you didn't need to be caged up," Andrew says.

"But I do," Oz says.

"But it's not fair."

"Maybe," Oz says.

"It wasn't your fault that you got bit. You shouldn't have to suffer."

"Everyone has to suffer," Oz says.

Andrew looks down at his hands.

"It's necessary," Oz says.

"I guess it's destiny," Andrew says.

Oz shrugs. "It's human." He checks his watch and walks into the cage.

Oz _isn't_ human, though.

Andrew doesn't watch as Oz takes his clothes off and changes, but Mr. Giles does, and Andrew watches him instead.

* * *

  
...and a half:

The first thing to do is get out of these fucking tweed trousers. He doesn't know what he was thinking--he looks like an old man in those things.

The second thing to do is pick up that sweet bird Joyce and see how far she's willing to fly.

The third thing is to find his guitar. He's sure he has it somewhere.

He unlocks his front door, trying to remember if he even has any proper clothes. What did he do with his leather jacket, anyway?

"Hi, Mr. Giles."

And it's the little vampire, eye-bending in a bright green shirt and yellow camouflage trousers, lying belly down with his bare feet in the air watching telly. "Hello, Andrew."

"Buffy called looking for you. She didn't say what was going on. Is something going on?"

"No, not at all," Ripper says.

"Oh. That's good." Andrew looks back at the telly.

The way the boy is lying there, knees spread open like an invitation... he's a prat, but Ripper never says no.

Ripper kneels beside the boy and rests a hand on his thigh.

"Mr. Giles?"

"Call me Ripper."

He slides his hand up between Andrew's legs and cups his prick through his trousers. He closes his hand, pressing his thumb into the boy's arse, and Andrew's mouth rounds into an "oh."

There's a pretty bird waiting on Revello Drive, but boys don't take long. Ripper smiles and pushes Andrew down with a hand on the back of his neck. "Ripper?" Andrew asks.

"Yes?" as he presses the boy's balls between his fingers and rubs the seam of his trousers deeper into his arse.

Andrew's knee slides out. Apart. "Are you sure this is okay?"

"Do you want this?" He replaces his hand with his mouth on the back of Andrew's neck and sucks, half a bite, tasting Andrew's cool skin and raising sluggish pig's blood to the surface. The boy's a vampire; if he doesn't like it, he'll make Ripper stop. "Of course you want this."

"Yes," Andrew sighs. He takes Ripper's hand with force that makes a demand, not a request, and brings his fingers to his mouth. He gives a shiver and a cry as Ripper presses his stiffening prick--and those are fangs rubbing against Ripper's knuckles.

Ripper kisses the back of Andrew's neck and whispers a charm into the boy's skin. It sends a halo of fire over his flesh, taking him from chill to fever in one breath.

"Mr. Giles!" Andrew jerks upwards, knocking him to one side. His eyes are round and yellow and sharpened by the ridges of his demon face. He breathes deeply, then grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head with a sound of ripping cloth.

Ripper grins. "Strip off. And come here."

Andrew's barefoot already; he rips open the button-fly and stumbles out of his trousers on his knees. Ripper sits up against the wall and tells him: "Sit in my lap."

Ripper's still clothed. Andrew sits in his tweed-covered lap and doesn't seem to mind the prickly wool against his skin; he's too intent on his own prick. Ripper pinches each small pink nipple and Andrew arches back over his knees.

A virgin, quite astonished at what his body can do in the hands of another. Ripper pinches harder, watching Andrew's mouth gape open and his lips pull back from his teeth. Vampires are creatures of the mouth--what was he thinking when he denied this boy blood?

He must have been out of his fucking mind.

He's better now.

He slides his hands up over the boy's shoulders, down his hard biceps and forearms hot from the magic, over his hands which he crosses under his own knees. "Hold on to yourself. Keep your hands there," he says, and Andrew is writhing, gnashing his fangs, and doesn't seem to hear, but he clasps his hands together with a bone-crushing grip.

So Ripper takes a feel of the young vampire. Scratchy hair on his thighs, none on his chest. Light sandpaper on his jaw and a tiny safety pin shoved crookedly through his earlobe; that must be new. Lumpy bone around his eyes but his lips are still soft and his breath is still damp. Ripper runs his knuckles over the boy's hollow belly and he gasps; Ripper strokes his prick and his hips buck up into Ripper's hand.

"Good boy," Ripper says, enchanted.

Andrew whimpers in reply.

Ripper slides two fingers of his left hand over Andrew's lips into his mouth. Always a little danger with a vampire: now he'll increase it. He snags his middle finger on a fang and tugs.

Andrew thrashes but doesn't let go. His mouth clamps around Ripper's fingers, sucking with all the power in his throat and tongue.

He knows what he wants from this boy. It's the same thing the boy wants from him.

He forces a finger into his arse. It'll hurt--but vampires love the pain. This isn't the first time he's fucked one. He pulls his other hand free--Andrew cries out and follows with his tongue but doesn't unclasp his hands--and unfastens his trousers at last.

He's hard enough to drive nails and Andrew is obedient and pliant as a wax doll. Perfect. Brilliant. He pulls his hand free and pushes in his prick.

Andrew stiffens and clamps his teeth together. Ripper can see the shivers over his body and the sweat springing up in his throat; he rubs the boy's arse encouragingly.

And Andrew pushes down, bit by bit. It's rough as _hell_\--and _God_, he hasn't felt that in a long time, and God, he's never traveled virgin road, and _God_, rough is what's it's supposed to be like with a man. He swipes his left hand up Andrew's body, leaving a stuttering stripe of blood, and gives him his fingers to suck again.

To nurse, almost, tongue kneading between his fingers to draw more blood. Eyes closed, sucking and shivering, Andrew moves in his lap. "Such a_ fucking_ good boy--" Ripper says.

\--and Andrew bites down, arches his back and climaxes, pumping up and down on his prick. Ripper clutches his thigh as he finally breaks his hands free and flings himself forward. He throws his arms around Ripper's shoulders and buries his human face in Ripper's neck as Ripper comes in his arse.

The boy's crying. He pulls at Ripper's shoulders while Ripper tries to catch his breath. "I've never felt this," he babbles into Ripper's neck, "it wasn't like this with her, it's never been like this, I've never had this, I want this, I want it all the time!"

Should have known the boy would be so soggy. "You want something, you have to go and get it," he says.

He straightens his legs with a creak and a pop, pulls out of the boy with a shimmy. He got _old_\--he'll have to stop that. He has enough magic to turn back the years.

He'll do it as soon as he gets his guitar, that fine, foxy lady, and some clothes he's not ashamed to be seen in. He ruffles his hand through Andrew's sweaty hair and pries the boy's hands loose from his shoulders. "Must be off."

Andrew lurches back in and grabs Ripper's shirt. "Can I have this? Is it okay? Please, Mr. Giles?"

"Sure." Ripper kisses him. He tastes like blood; he's sweet as candy. His skin is wet and fever-hot and he'll do whatever Ripper says.

He'll do. Shag, minion, all of that. Knows the magic, can back him up. Hah. He could rule fucking Sunnydale with this kid, Slayer or no.

But first he needs some better trousers, so he needs the kid to let go. "Andrew. Go sleep it off. I have things I've got to do tonight."

And Andrew leans back, nodding, wiping at his face, smiling.

* * *

  
Giles wakes up on the living room couch with the midmorning sun stabbing painfully into his eyes. Dear God, he feels awful. And why is he downstairs?

He drags himself off the couch and into the kitchen, where the shades are blessedly drawn. He pours a glass of orange juice and tries to remember just what the _hell_ is going on.

Something about--Ethan? Candy?

A police car?

Joyce?

The basement door cracks open. "Good morning, Mr. Giles," Andrew says softly.

"Good morning, Andrew," he says. His voice is rough; he clears his throat and tastes smoke.

Was he _smoking_ last night?

He _was_ smoking, he realizes, and it begins to come back. The candy. Buffy's explanation. The--dear God. The hood of the police car, him and _Joyce_\--

His living room, him and _Andrew_\--

Oh, no. No. no, he couldn't possibly have--

Twice in the space of an hour? He really _must_ have been seventeen. He laughs at himself silently. His knees buckle and he collapses into a chair.

The basement door opens wider and Andrew creeps out, smiling, dressed only in boyish blue underpants. "That was really amazing last night," he says.

Andrew's rumpled and bruised as if he's been through a windstorm. He made the boy _bleed_ last night and he calls it _amazing_?

Andrew curls up in the chair beside him, not quite touching. Giles looks at those long, pale thighs and remembers touching them. He looks at the boy's skinny chest and considers having himself arrested. Joining a monastery. Flagellating himself daily for the rest of his life.

There are _words_ for men like him, and they aren't kind ones.

Andrew is still smiling. His left hand is raised halfway, about to land on Giles's knee.

He twitches his leg away. "I'm so terribly sorry," he says. "I'm so--I'm so very sorry."

"What?"

Andrew is _still_ smiling. He trusts Giles. "I should never have touched you," Giles says. "It was very wrong of me. I was wrong, Andrew--I wasn't in my right mind, but that's no excuse."

Andrew's smile is fading. "I don't understand, Mr. Giles," he says.

"I was wrong. I was in error. I did a terrible thing, and I can't imagine how I could ever atone to you for it." The boy was a virgin. He will never have that back.

"But I wanted it, Mr. Giles, I want to do it again." Andrew takes his knee in both hands and kneels before him.

"No! We can't, not _ever_." He removes Andrew's hands from his knee.

"Why?" Andrew asks. He sounds heartbroken and it turns Giles's stomach.

"There are rules against grown men interfering with sixteen-year-old boys."

"But I'm not a boy. I'm a vampire." Andrew looks at him with a swift flash of hunger in his eyes.

"A _boy_," Giles says.

Andrew stares at him for a long moment; he sheds his human face and lets the demon show, but he says nothing.

"I am so very sorry," Giles says.

Andrew rubs his hands down his naked thighs and backs away, back down into his basement.

Giles buries his head in his hands and wonders if it's too early to become blinding drunk.

* * *

  
...and three quarters:

Andrew stands in the doorway and watches Mr. Giles sleep. Mr. Giles smells drunk; Andrew knows that smell pretty well by now.

He gets sweaty when he's drunk. Sweat is salt, and blood is salty, so it's a little...

He crouches over Mr. Giles and licks a stripe up his neck. He tastes the salt and smells the blood and it's pretty close to the real thing that he's not getting ever again ever as long as he lives because he'll _always_ be a little boy and Mr. Giles is only going to get older.

Andrew runs out of the room and nearly falls down the stairs. He bolts out of the house and down the street.

He's ten blocks away before he realizes where he's going, and what he needs.

* * *

  
Andrew watches Angel for ten minutes, at least, while Angel moves through some kind of exercise.

Buffy says Angel is good again. Andrew is looking for the difference. He feels like it should be something you can see, though Mr. Giles says the change is all on the inside, that it only shows through your actions. That doesn't seem right to Andrew.

Angel stills, looks around, sniffs the air, and calls out "Who is it?"

Andrew steps out of the shadows. "Me."

"You?" Angel doesn't recognize him--but then he suddenly does. "Oh. You. Uh. You? Hi."

"My name's Andrew. I guess you weren't paying attention before, since you were busy ending the world."

Angel rubs his head and nods. "Then after that I spent about a hundred years in hell, and I've always been bad with names. But. Andrew. Sure."

"If Drusilla is my sire, does that make you my grandsire?"

"I don't like keeping things so formal." Angel crosses the room and picks up his shirt without taking his eyes off Andrew. "Buffy didn't mention you... are you... do you have a soul too?"

"I'm a good vampire without having a soul. Mr. Giles taught me how. Buffy said you're not evil any more." Buffy said that, then Mr. Giles came home and closed himself in the study and wouldn't even come out to watch "Red Dwarf" with Andrew. And Andrew could smell alcohol. Lots of it.

"No, I'm not evil," Angel says as he pulls his shirt on.

"You're only evil when you lose your soul?"

Angel nods. "The soul means I can feel the consequences of my actions."

Andrew thinks about that. "So you still want to eat people and torture them for fun and turn them into your mindless vampire minions but you don't because you'd feel bad about it because of the soul?"

"Um." Angel blinks at him. Andrew blinks back. "Kind of."

"And that makes you good. Okay." Andrew nods with understanding.

Angel stands with his hands in his pockets. "So, Andrew--what exactly are you doing here?"

"Mr. Giles's bones hurt whenever it's cold or rainy and they had to amputate the tip of his finger and one of his toes," Andrew says.

Angel's eyes are dark and cold. "I'm sorry about what I did. I'm so sorry I don't even have the words for it. But I can't change it--there's nothing I can do now."

"There's something," Andrew says.

Angel jerks and crosses his arms. "What?"

Andrew shoves his hands into his pockets and winds the strings of a talismanic bundle around his left hand and palms the stake with his right. He feels the strength flow from the talismans; he must look different because Angel takes a step backwards.

He flies at Angel with the stake in his hand. He has strength from the magic, enough to shake off the blows Angel gives him and kick Angel's legs out from under him. Enough to pin Angel to the floor and punch him left-handed until he goes cross-eyed.

Not enough to fight off the Slayer when she kicks him in the head. She punches him in the face and he drops his stake and bundle.

Then he's just Andrew on his knees.

"Get out!" she yells. "Now!"

"He hurt Mr. Giles bad," he says to the floor, "and I really love him," he whispers.

"_Go_," Buffy says. She's crying. She has his stake in her hand as she kneels next to Angel and she's crying all over the both of them.

Andrew goes.

A few blocks away he collapses and shakes for an hour: magical rebound. Every spell has a price.

* * *

  
Andrew moves furniture restlessly. He doesn't want to go out, but he's tired of looking at the same four walls. Things will look different if he moves things around a little.

Maybe he could paint.

The phone rings. Andrew sighs and climbs a bookshelf to reach his desk; he lies on the top shelf on his stomach and says "Hello?"

"Andrew. You have a brother, right? Named Tucker?" It's Buffy. Calling for _him_.

"Yeah?"

"He's unleashing a hellhound on prom. I need you to help me stop him. Where would he keep it?"

Andrew opens and closes his mouth. "His room?"

"No, they're _big_, like, guy-sized."

"Well, I don't--" But then he remembers, he _does_ know. "Oh! My dad has a house we rent out--it was my grandmother's, it's usually empty since housing in Sunnydale is always ample due to the death rate--"

"Where?"

"It's on Third near Grant."

"Meet me there."

"Now?" Andrew asks, but he's already getting a dial tone.

He guesses that means now.

Well. If the Slayer wants him to do something--he guesses he has to. He still has his vow.

Andrew climbs off the bookshelf and finds his shoes.

It's nice out, a nice spring evening. There are fireflies and people on bikes like he's in a song or something.

It makes him feel itchy and achy and weird. It makes him feel like he wants to run around and jump off stuff at people and make them scream. It must be--it's is demon instincts and he has to suppress them because he's good and Mr. Giles and the Slayer believe in him, at least the Slayer _probably_ believes in him, or else she'd stake him, and--

"Hey." Buffy grabs his shoulder and Andrew yelps. "Nervous much?"

"Hi, Slayer," Andrew says.

"Come on." Buffy marches in the direction of Third and Andrew has to run almost to keep up.

"Buffy? I hope there aren't any hard feelings?"

"About Angel? That's vampire stuff, try to kill your sire, traditional. None of my business. Over it." She doesn't look at him.

"Okay." Andrew follows her, running every other step.

Buffy doesn't say anything else until they reach Third Street. "Which one?" she asks.

"Down that way, the white one."

Buffy runs. She charges up the porch steps and kicks in the door. "I might not be able to come in," Andrew says, running after her, "I need an invitation--oh." He steps across the threshold.

Buffy looks back. "It must be the missing posters, a sort of written invitation, or else my parents wished aloud that I would come back--that's interesting," Andrew muses aloud.

"You're not invited into your own house? Your parents don't know what _happened_?"

"I don't think so," Andrew says. It never really seemed important.

"You just--disappeared? You're _here_ in Sunnydale and you never went home?" Buffy sounds really _shocked_.

"I hear something downstairs," Andrew says, pointing to the basement door in the back. "Like animals."

Buffy looks, then marches to the basement door and flings it open. Tucker is right there, two steps down, and yelps. "Buffy! What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. And hey! There you are," Buffy says. Andrew glares over Buffy's shoulder.

"Andrew! Where the hell have you been?" Tucker says. "You are in _so_ much trouble, you're going to be grounded until you're eighty!" He laughs up at Andrew and Andrew--his blood just _boils_.

He leaps for Tucker, shifting into his demon face as they tumble down the stairs and land next to the hellhound cage. "I hate you, you stupid asshole, I _hate_ you!" he growls, and Tucker is screaming and Andrew has his neck in his hands and wow, Tucker is way more fragile now. Andrew could break his arms and tear off his ears and smash all _his_ toys for a change--

But then Andrew is flying backwards via Buffy's hand on his shirt collar and Buffy wraps her arms around him and pins him to her. "Hey!" Buffy shouts. "Tucker!"

Tucker clutches the wall and whimpers. Andrew growls at the top of his lungs and Buffy squeezes him tighter.

"Tucker! Kill the hellhound or I let him loose!" Buffy shouts.

Tucker's eyes are so wide Andrew sees the white all the way around. His sweat smells like _terror_ and it's _great_.

Tucker scrambles to his feet and grabs a gun from a shelf. His hands are shaking so bad that he drops it once but he picks it up again, loads it with a blue dart, walks over to the hellhound's cage and shoots the demon in the side. "That's. Uh. Poison. I was going to. Get rid of it after."

"There's _more_ of them," Andrew snarls, "we're not _stupid_."

"Get them too," Buffy says.

Tucker walks backwards, eyes on Buffy and Andrew, and shoves aside a curtain concealing three more cages. Andrew twitches when Tucker turns his back and Buffy locks her arms around him. "Did you really think this would work? That you could just ruin the happiest day of a senior's life and nobody would stop you?"

Tucker shoots the other hellhounds and looks back at Buffy. His hands shake so hard he drops the gun again. "I kind of--it worked, it--" Andrew snaps his teeth at Tucker. "What _happened_ to him?" Tucker asks.

"Little bro is a vampire. It's Sunnydale, it happens. We'll be going now, but also, we'll be watching, so don't ever try something like this again." Buffy walks backwards, dragging Andrew along with her. Andrew doesn't fight her; he just watches Tucker's pale face until his head clears the basement ceiling.

Buffy slams the door and slams Andrew up against it. "_What_ was that? I thought you were supposed to be on the side of _not_ killing people?"

Killing Tucker? He wasn't going to kill Tucker--he's _good_. He was doing something _good_, obviously... He opens his mouth before he knows what to say and ends up saying: "It was good cop, bad cop!"

"Good cop, bad cop," Buffy repeats.

"It--worked, didn't it? Like--Law and Order," Andrew says.

"So if I let you go, you're not going to go back down there and rip his throat out?"

Andrew nods. Buffy lets go of his shirt. "Next time, tell me the plan _before_ jumping the bad guy," Buffy says. "I don't like to wing it when there's growling and fangs."

Andrew nods eagerly. "Okay."

They leave together. "Though, if you want to go back and explain the whole vampire thing to your brother or your mom or someone, that would be okay. I could provide explanation and backup," Buffy says.

Andrew shakes his head. Tucker can look it up. Books on vampires aren't very hard to find in Sunnydale. "We were never really very close."

"You and your brother? I got that," Buffy says.

"Me and my whole family." When he thinks about them, it's like they were people he read about in a book. His mom, his dad, his brother... they don't really have anything to do with _him_. He doesn't really feel anything about them. Not now.

Buffy looks down, then looks him in the eye as they walk along. "When I--left, you know? When I ran away? I kind of felt like that, like everyone here was part of a different life that I didn't want to be in any more. And living with Giles is a lot better than waitressing in L.A., but they're still, you know, your family. And if you go home, then--it can happen that your two lives aren't really two different lives after all."

Buffy's life isn't anything like his life, though. She was running away from being the _Slayer_, the chosen one, and Andrew for one thing didn't run away and for another thing is on the right course of his destiny. Mr. Giles said so. "I think I'm doing the right thing," he says.

"You sure?" Buffy asks.

Andrew nods.

* * *

  
Andrew wonders if, when the town is eaten by the Mayor, he'll eat the vampires too, or if vampires aren't tasty.

He tries licking his arm, but he's not really tasty to himself.

He starts reshelving his books. They go by subject and then alphabetized within the subject but he's planning a different configuration this time: demons and magic by the desk, sci-fi near the bed. He's not sure where the book on gayness he got off the internet should go. Right now it's on his desk, because he thinks he should read up before he commits, because--he can't with Mr. Giles. Not ever again.

Ever.

So that means other people, and that's not really what he wants at all. So he's researching the whole thing. He might just be confused. 

His phone rings. That's twice in a week.

"Hello?"

"We need you for the attack on the Mayor," Buffy says.

"...Okay?"

"Meet us at the library."

"Sure."

He wonders if this means he's in the Slayer's good graces.

* * *

  
After the fight Andrew is covered in soot and smoke and vampire dust and his ear is taped up with duct tape because they ran out of bandages on the actual human people.

He's really pissed off--he had to hit people _near_ Angel but didn't actually get to hit Angel. Who he _hates_. A _lot_. And he's glad that he's gone, ultra-super-glad. He stomps into Willy's and glares at everyone.

"Uh, I don't know if you're old enough to be in here, kiddo," the bartender says.

Andrew shifts into his demon face and snarls.

"Jeez! Okay, no need to get testy. What do you want?"

"Um." He hadn't thought that far. "Something strong! With blood in it!"

The bartender shrugs. "One rum and blood coming up."

Andrew leans on the bar and looks around while the bartender draws off his blood. There are only a few people in--some vampires, two oozy Lei-Ach demons, and a human with his head down on the table at a booth.

"Three bucks," the bartender says, sliding a short glass over to him. Andrew fishes his money out, thinking that drinking is more expensive than he expected. He tries the drink and it's really sweet and strong at the same time--it's not his normal species of blood. It might be cow blood.

Then he swallows and it _burns_ him all the way down. That, wow. That's probably the rum. Yikes.

He keeps from making embarrassing noises, though. It feels pretty nice once it's sitting in his stomach.

"Hey. You're human," the one girl vampire says to the human at the booth. She kicks his ankle.

"What? Get away!" the human says. And--oh, it's Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, the other Watcher. Mr. Giles doesn't like him, but if he gets eaten in a demon bar with Andrew around, the Slayer will want to know:  
1\. Why Andrew was there; and,  
2\. Why he didn't do anything.

And that would be bad. Andrew walks over. "I don't think you want to taunt him," he says to the other vampire.

The vampire snorts and shoves Andrew. Andrew shoves her back and whispers "burn" under his breath.

The blood from his split knuckles sets her shirt on fire. Andrew grins as she screams and runs out; the three guy vampires run after her with a pitcher of beer. "Countess Nightwind! Wait!"

Andrew is really good at the blood magic. He sits down across from Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, who is blinking after the vampires. He smells really drunk.

"Brilliant," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says. "Well done."

"Thanks." Andrew looks at his empty drink just as the bartender brings another one out.

"Enough of that rough stuff," the bartender says.

Andrew is a guy who has to be warned about rough stuff in a bar. He starts grinning but then turns it into a scowl fast. "Just as long as nobody messes with me," he growls.

"Sure, kid."

"Really, that was very impressive," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says. He rests his cheek on his hand and his glasses slide down his nose. "Mr. Giles must find you invaluable."

Andrew makes a face and takes a tiny sip of his rum and blood. "I don't know. I only get to help when it's, like, an emergency. I get called after _Cordelia_ even though I know way more stuff and why does everyone like Cordelia anyway?"

"Oh, Cordelia," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce sighs.

"Seriously, what's so great about Cordelia?" Andrew mutters.

"Must be lovely to be useful--Lord knows I'm not... they sacked me, they up and sacked me." Mr. Wyndam-Pryce droops and his glasses slide off onto the table.

"I can do way better magic than Willow can. I bet I can make her friend not be a rat any more, but I _haven't_ because nobody asked me to help."

"My entire _bloody_ life devoted to the Watchers and they just sacked me."

"I think it's prejudice because I'm a vampire and kind of gay."

"They'll be sorry," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says.

"They'll totally be sorry," Andrew says, and drinks again.

They both sit there for a minute.

"Oh, no they won't," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce sighs.

"Yeah. Probably not." Andrew sighs and slumps down with Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce looks over. "I don't suppose you know how to play darts?"  



	4. Chapter 4

Four:

"Picard is the best captain. Kirk is all reckless and stuff," Andrew says, "he beams down with the Away team _all the time_."

"But Kirk is cuter," Dawn says. She rifles through the box of tapes. "Which one has the tribbles?"

Andrew looks in the box. "'The Trouble With Tribbles.' That's a good one." He digs through the box carefully. "Picard is plenty cute," he says.

"Picard is all old!"

"That makes him cuter, actually," Andrew says. He can't find the tape; they might have to do something else. He looks at Dawn. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Dawn's mouth goes round and she scrambles in closer. "Yeah?"

Andrew whispers in her ear: "I've been going to the demon bar all summer."

"Oh my god!" She covers her mouth and giggles. "Take me! I want to see it!"

"No! You're human. That's a special place for evil monsters and soulless creatures of the night," Andrew says.

"You're not evil, you big faker! Take me! Take me! Take me!" Dawn jumps on him and pokes him in the ribs. Andrew bats her hands away, grinning. "You can't tell me that and then not let me go! That's so unfair!"

He hears the basement door open. "Andrew!" Buffy says. "Are you there?"

He and Dawn both sit up. "Yes, as is your sister, as your mother requested!" Andrew responds.

Buffy comes down the steps. "Dawn. Hi. Andrew, did you know Harmony was a vampire?"

"Harmony--Cordelia's friend from high school?" Andrew thinks. "No, but that explains a lot."

"Like what? Dawn, go upstairs."

"What? I'm not a kid! I can hear stuff!" Dawn jumps to her feet and glares at Buffy.

"No, no hearing stuff until you're at _least_ eighteen!" Buffy says.

"What? You were fifteen when you were called to be a Slayer. That's only two years older than me now!"

"Okay, no hearing stuff until you're _fifteen_. Go!" Buffy points.

Dawn pouts and stomps upstairs. "Giles!" she yells as she goes.

Buffy points at Andrew. "Okay. What does that explain about Harmony?"

"It explains why she's been hanging out with Spike," Andrew says.

"Oh. Oh, crap," Buffy sighs. She sits on Andrew's bed and Andrew sits beside her. "Spike. Did he see you?"

"I think so. My blood called out to his in a primal burn of kinship and recognition."

Buffy stares at him.

"It's a vampire thing," Andrew says. "But he might not know that I'm part of the Slayer's inner circle--I mean, that I am still."

"Do you know what he's doing?"

"I think he's gathering minions."

"Wait, so Spike is here for the long term? When were you planning on telling me this?" Buffy jumps to her feet.

Andrew opens his mouth. "I just--I didn't think it was a big deal. Vampires gather minions all the time, usually it's just for--crypt-painting or something!"

"Spike is a big deal! Spike almost killed me a couple of times! I want to know when the big guys are in town, okay?"

Andrew swallows and nods.

Buffy presses her temples. "Okay. Spike and... _Harmony_. Oh, that _has_ to be just a gross sex thing I don't even want to think about."

Andrew shrugs.

"Is there any word on what he wants the minions for?"

"No."

"I better find out," Buffy sighs. "Keep me informed if you find out anything else. Jeez, I have homework _already_\--I don't have time for Spike and his crap."

"We're making popcorn!" Dawn shouts down the steps. "If you're done being big secretive jerks you can have some!"

"I'll find more information for you, Slayer," Andrew vows.

"Yeah, if you can. Is there butter on the popcorn?" Buffy calls as she goes back upstairs.

"Yes!"

"Devil child." Buffy closes the door behind her.

* * *

  
Andrew goes down to Willy's that night. All the bad guys go through Willy's eventually. He sits in a corner booth and has blood--but _not_ alcohol, since he's performing a vital task for the Slayer.

He checks his watch at seven-forty-five.

He checks it again at eight-thirty.

This is so amazingly boring. Andrew stands up to leave, maybe walk through a cemetery or something, and ends up walking right into a thin guy who smells like power.

"Careful, my poppet," the guy says.

Andrew stares at him. "You're Ethan Rayne." He remembers from that one horrible Halloween when he was trapped in a puppet's body by the forces of darkness.

Rayne looks Andrew up and down and smiles. "I am. And you--you're that enchanting little boy I met in my shop. What's your name?"

"Andrew," he says automatically. He straightens his shoulders. "I'm not susceptible to your dark spells, Lord of Chaos."

"I'm not casting any. Won't you sit and chat?" Rayne gestures to the table and Andrew sits down, though he's not entirely sure why.

Rayne's eyes are bright and black like the polished stones in Mr. Giles's favorite ritual dagger. Andrew can't look away. "Give me your hand," Rayne says, "I'll read your future."

"I know what my future is," Andrew says, but he gives Rayne his hand anyway. Walking away doesn't seem like an option.

"Other hand."

Andrew puts his other hand, his right hand, on the table, and Rayne cups it in his. "Look," Rayne says, and Andrew looks and sees darkness pooling in the center of his palm.

"Please don't use my body for evil," Andrew whispers.

"Chaos isn't evil, my poppet, chaos is chaos. Look."

Andrew sees things in the darkness in his hand. He sees--himself, in a nice suit with his hair all stylish, knocking down a dozen demons with one wave of his hand. He sees himself beckoning the stars down to dance. He feels power, amazing power that he could just reach out and _grab_. "You're tempting me," Andrew gasps.

"I'm showing you what you could be." Rayne's eyes are black and shiny with a little pinprick of light in the center, and Andrew can't pull away from him.

"But I know what I am. I'm--I'm Mr. Giles's apprentice. I'm good," Andrew whispers. "You want me to be evil and I'm not!"

"Not evil. Not evil at all. Don't be trapped in prejudice and lies. Don't let _Ripper_ tell you what's right and what's wrong--he's hardly qualified, now is he? You have tremendous power, sweet boy," Rayne says, "if you only admit it to yourself."

Which he--

He knows it's true. He knows it, and he knows that Mr. Giles doesn't see it and would never let him _use_ it anyway and--

"No!" Andrew rips his hand away from Rayne and stumbles out of his seat onto the floor. Rayne glances around at the other people in the bar.

Someone helps Andrew to his feet as the bartender hops over the bar. Tonight it's not Willy, it's a great big grumpy-looking vampire, and Rayne only holds his hands up and goes quietly when he's pointed to the door.

"That guy--he's a dirty old man. He tried to get me to come back to his hotel with him the other night," says whoever picked Andrew up. Andrew turns and looks at him.

Oh. Wow.

"Uh," Andrew says.

He isn't confused any more. He's totally gay.

"Can I get you a drink?" asks the gorgeous demon guy who picked him up. The tall, dark, beautiful, smiling guy.

Andrew nods.

* * *

  
Mr. Giles is making dinner when Andrew returns. "Andrew! Where have you been?"

Andrew sticks his hands in his pockets. "I was out, and I, um. I ran into a friend? And I got caught by, you know, daylight, so I stayed." Stayed in Joshua's dorm room--Joshua, his name is Joshua, and his last name is really long and demony.

"I was worried," Mr. Giles says. He glances at Andrew but quickly turns back to his soup.

"Sorry. I should have called."

Mr. Giles stirs the soup. Andrew leans against the refrigerator and watches him.

He didn't see Mr. Giles very much over the summer--which is weird, because with the school blown up and Mr. Giles not having a job, he was home pretty much all the time. But--mostly he was in the library upstairs, drinking and studying and sometimes doing some magic. Andrew could smell it. It smells ozoney.

Mr. Giles glances at him again. "Do you need something?"

"No." Andrew crosses his arms in front of him, hands still stuffed in his pockets. He's still tingly from the smooching. Joshua cut class and they napped and made out together all day.

They didn't go all they way, though. They didn't even get to fellatio, which Andrew has been reading about and which seems very interesting.

Joshua doesn't make him _burn_ like Mr. Giles did, but Joshua was really really happy when he woke up and Andrew was there in his bed.

"Are you sure everything is all right?" Mr. Giles asks. "You seem troubled."

Andrew shakes his head. "I'm fine."

He likes Joshua.

He really likes Joshua.

So he's--fine.

"I like to think that we can be friends," Mr. Giles says.

Andrew nods.

Someone knocks on the door and then opens it. "Hey! I found out what Spike wants!" Buffy calls.

Mr. Giles turns away. "In here--what does he want?"

"The Gem of Amara," Buffy says as she runs into the kitchen. "What's the Gem of Amara?"

"Mythical," Mr. Giles says, and "Here in Sunnydale?" Andrew says. They both look at each other.

"Vampires are mythical too," Andrew says, "mythical doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

"No, vampires are supernatural. Santa Claus is mythical. It's in Antonius, for heaven's sake, the man didn't know his right hand from his left--"

"It's in Crislock, too!"

"Hey! What _is_ it?" Buffy breaks in.

"It makes you invulnerable! If you're a vampire," Andrew says.

"It's like the Holy Grail for vampires. No-one knows what it does, because it doesn't exist."

Andrew glares at Mr. Giles. "It _could_ exist."

"But it doesn't. I suppose we should find out what Spike thinks he's doing, though, I'm sure he's due a beating," Mr. Giles says to Buffy.

"Or a staking!" Buffy says happily.

"We'll look into it."

"I'll get my Crislock and my Hunt and my Ugra!" Andrew runs downstairs.

"And your Haworth!" Mr. Giles calls after him.

Vampire theologian. "Right!"

This is going to be fun.

* * *

  
That sucked. Andrew kicks at pebbles as he stalks across the campus. He misses most of them, of course.

At least he got to try on the Gem of Amara before Oz took it to Angel. Buffy watched him like several hawks, but didn't object. It felt tingly. The sun made his eyes hurt.

He doesn't get what Angel did to make him so worthy, though. He might have a soul but he _said_ he still thinks evil thoughts and Andrew totally doesn't.

It's so _unfair_.

He walks into Joshua's dorm--he noticed that he doesn't need an invitation to get into the building, just individual rooms--and knocks on Joshua's door and hopes.

Joshua opens the door and smiles. "I was just thinking about you," Joshua says.

Then Andrew smiles and Joshua tugs him inside and they kiss for long time before they even sit down.

* * *

  
...and a quarter:

"So everyone is running around making tons of yummy Thanksgiving food I can't eat," Andrew says, "and I have to hide you in my room and let you drink all my blood and I can't hit you at all?"

"Pretty much. You can eat food, though," Angel says.

"I hate you." Andrew turns his back.

"I'm getting that," Angel says.

* * *

  
Andrew runs upstairs, through the kitchen where it seems like everyone he knows--except _Dawn_, his _favorite_ person after Mr. Giles, who went out of town with her mother--is cooking stuff, and sees Buffy tying Spike to a chair. "Spike! Are you going to torture him for information?"

"Possibly," Buffy says.

"Can I help?" Andrew asks.

"Seconded," Xander says from the couch. "Someone get me a carving knife and some Tylenol, _please_."

Andrew sniffs the air; Xander smells like he's dying. That's not good. "What's going on?" he asks.

"We're being hunted and tormented by the spirit of a Native American warrior our ancestors hunted and tormented two hundred years ago," Buffy says.

Andrew pauses and thinks about that. "I'm three-quarters Swedish," he says, "and only one-quarter American."

"Yes, and I'm entirely English. It doesn't seem to matter," Mr. Giles says as he mixes up stuffing.

"Give us some blood," Spike says to Andrew, "come on, for Uncle Spike, just a nibble."

"No."

Spike bounces the chair up and down. "Yeah, well, I'm your _sire_ and I bleeding _compel_ you!" He widens his eyes and stares at Andrew.

"Uh oh," Willow says, over Andrew's shoulder, "he has some kind of evil eye thing going on. Should we trace protective runes on Andrew with salt water?"

"Don't be silly," Mr. Giles says.

Andrew stares back. "You're not actually _doing_ anything," he says. "You're not my sire, anyway."

Xander peeks his head over the couch. "Hey, what _is_ a sire?"

"Complicated question," Mr. Giles says. He smells like sage. Andrew wonders if the turkey will be charmed.

"Drusilla is my sire," Andrew says. He rubs his neck, thinking about her teeth.

"Maybe the blood was hers. The will was always Angel's," Spike says. "Lovely hot blood from a nice young lass will do me a tr--" His voice squeaks off as Buffy grabs his throat.

"I can still chuck you outside," she says.

Andrew goes into the kitchen and digs the blood out from under the bowl of peas. The fridge is so full with Thanksgiving stuff that the peas just stay there in midair, supported by a half-gallon of milk and a big container of peeled potatoes.

"Are carrots supposed to look like this? I don't remember carrots coming in disk form," Anya says as Andrew pours some blood into a glass and puts it in the microwave.

"The miracles of modern technology," Willow tells Anya. "Oh! We should make some special dressing for Andrew! With blood and, um, cranberries!"

Andrew and Mr. Giles both turn and look at her. "I don't eat food," Andrew says.

"Oh." Willow stands there with a bag of frozen rolls in her hand.

"Well--you _can_ eat, it's simply not nourishing," Mr. Giles says. "Blood and bread is traditional in many demon cultures as a snack to bring luck to the new year."

"It's not the new year, it's November." The microwave dings and Andrew takes out the glass of blood. Willow wrinkles her nose slightly at the smell of it.

"The coming year," Mr. Giles says.

"Okay. Maybe," Andrew says, and he takes the glass of blood in to Spike.

"About time," Spike grumbles. Andrew walks past him and sits cross-legged on the worktable. "Here, I'm over here!"

Andrew slurps the blood noisily. He can hear Spike start breathing with desire; Spike shifts into his demon face and bares his teeth at Andrew. Buffy looks between them with her eyebrows raised and a growing smile on her face.

"You vicious little nancy boy," Spike growls, "you give that _here_\--"

"Spike! You're a guest. Don't insult your host," Buffy says. Xander props himself up on the couch and grins.

Andrew tips the glass back and finishes every last bit. He lets a drop slide down his chin for show. Spike groans low and loud like an animal in pain.

Andrew _hurt_ him. It feels great. Andrew slides off the table and saunters back into the kitchen slowly. "Way to go!" Xander says.

"I owed him some torture," Andrew says softly.

He puts the glass in the dishwasher. Mr. Giles follows him downstairs. Angel is sitting at Andrew's desk reading about Native American myth; Mr. Giles gives him a glance and says, "Buffy likely won't leave until after dinner, but you can jump out the kitchen window once the sun is down."

"Sounds like a plan," Angel says.

"Andrew." Mr. Giles takes his shoulder. "Do remember to be merciful to a beaten foe. It's what separates man from beast."

Andrew hangs his head and nods. Mr. Giles pats his shoulder and goes back upstairs.

"What did you do to Spike?" Angel asks.

Andrew sits on his bed and picks up his personal grimoire. "He's really hungry. I drank some blood in front of him. That's all."

"Psychological. Not bad for an amateur."

_Those of my bloodline have no power over me_, Andrew writes carefully, left-handed. "It felt pretty good," he says.

* * *

  
Andrew has bread and blood for Thanksgiving dinner, because they're trying to be nice.

"Now we go around the table and say what we're thankful for this year," Buffy says.

"Are you sure?" Mr. Giles asks.

"Yes!"

"Even the non-Americans?"

"You can be thankful for getting rid of us," Xander says. Spike snorts loudly in agreement and Andrew elbows him. Spike is sitting next to him, still tied to the chair.

"I'll go first. I'm thankful that we stopped the Mayor from eating us all at Graduation, that my sister's school doesn't have any _obvious_ hauntings, and that I'm passing all my classes without cheating even once." Buffy looks at Anya.

Anya looks puzzled for a minute. "Well, I'm _not_ grateful that I was trapped in this inferior human form by some process that I _will_ get to the bottom of one of these days. I _am_ thankful that I have a boyfriend to lend shape and meaning to my life." She looks at Xander.

Xander looks panicked. "I'm. Um."

"Oh, do tell," Spike says, and Andrew elbows him again, then once more, harder, for good measure. "_Ow_," Spike says pointedly.

"Shush! Or I shut your mouth with a bamboo skewer." Buffy smiles at Spike.

"Kinky," Spike says, but Buffy's smile gets kind of menacing, so he leaves it there.

"Xander?" Buffy says.

"I'm very thankful that I found a nice girl who hasn't tried to kill me even once," Xander says, and looks at Mr. Giles.

"I'm thankful that we have survived the night and bid fair to survive the next," Mr. Giles says.

Willow looks worried, then sad, then worried again, then says "I'm thankful that dinner turned out so well! And that we're all friends to be here sharing it." Spike makes a rude noise again and gets elbowed by Andrew and Buffy both.

Willow looks at Andrew. And Andrew--thinks for a second. This past year... It hurts that Mr. Giles can't love him. It's good that the town wasn't eaten by Mayor Wilkins, but Buffy already covered that. He's really excited about meeting Joshua, but he's not ready to tell everyone. He's glad Buffy hasn't staked him for being a vampire. He's sorry he's not allowed to kill Angel or Spike. He's sorry he can't hunt down Drusilla, rip off her head and drink from her fountaining neck for making him a vampire.

"I'm thankful that you've let me stay alive," he says, "and have always given me a chance to show that I can be a good vampire." He looks at Spike.

Spike looks back at Andrew with a calculating curl to his lip. "Be thankful for something, Spike," Buffy says.

"Me? My year's been shite top to bottom. Drusilla takes a walk and I end up the centerpiece for your holiday gorge? Balls to that. I'm not thankful for anything."

Buffy sticks a roll in his mouth. "To next year," she says, holding up her glass.

"Next year!" everyone but Spike echoes. They clink glasses.

"Mmph!" Spike curses.

* * *

  
Of course the Native American warriors defending their ancestral homelands shot out Mr. Giles's front window and blinds, so Spike had to spend the night in the basement with Andrew. The only break Andrew got was that Angel was gone by then.

They both woke up cranky.

"Apologize," Andrew says, standing out of Spike's reach.

"I'm not bloody apologizing!" Spike shouts, but his eyes are fixed on the mug in Andrew's hand.

"Apologize," Andrew repeats.

"No!"

Andrew shrugs and sips at the blood. He feels his face shift as the blood flows over his tongue. "No, don't _drink_ it all!" Spike cries. "I'm sorry! I'm fucking well sorry that I called you a vicious little nancy boy. Now will you give me that before I _die_?"

"Apology accepted," Andrew says. He holds the mug for Spike to drink.

The last time he was this close to Spike, Spike held him in his lap while Drusilla licked his neck and pinched his skin all over.

Mr. Giles said to be merciful, not to let Spike walk all over him. "Though I am a homosexual," Andrew says, "'nancy boy' is an insult. I prefer 'gay' or 'queer,' which is a former insult now being reclaimed by those of my inclination."

Spike gulps the last of the blood and sneers at him. "What's your position on 'fairy'?"

Andrew shows teeth. Spike snarls back. "Untie me and I'll mop the floor with you," Spike growls.

"Not before I cut off your head with my Swiss army knife," Andrew says.

"Pillow-biting twat."

"Eunuch."

"Oh, my prick's all there," Spike says, "come unzip me and have a lick. Have two."

Andrew grabs his hair and pulls his head back. "Hey? Spike? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop?" He gnashes his teeth together, leaning over Spike's face.

Spike curls his lips back so far it's almost like a smile. "When I get my teeth back you are _staked_, you are _dust_ on the bloody wind, you vicious little catamite--"

Mr. Giles clears his throat. Andrew and Spike both jump and stare at him. Andrew didn't even hear him coming down the stairs. "Perhaps we should bring Spike upstairs," Mr. Giles says.

Andrew lets go of Spike's hair. "Punching bag to pile of dust, bloody marvelous," Spike complains.

"I never hit you!" Andrew protests.

"Xander has the windows boarded up. We'll fix them next week. And I can see that you didn't hurt him, Andrew."

Andrew tips Spike's chair back and drags him across the floor to the stairs. They're not taking any chances that this is all a big act. "When I get better, we're going to throw down, you and me," Spike breathes.

"That's what you said to everyone. I think Buffy has dibs." Andrew starts pulling Spike up the stairs. He makes sure to bump him twice on every step.

"Poof," Spike says.

"Loser. Get a new insult," Andrew answers.

* * *

  
...and a half:

He can't see them, but he can still _hear_ them.

"Look at these vests! It has to be a vest, or--oh! Vintage! You're old, you can wear old stuff!" Buffy exclaims.

"In the old days, we just wore our best gear for the occasion. What's wrong with _that_ tradition?"

Tuxedo catalogs. Where she _found_ the stuff Giles will never know--then again, he's learned by now not to underestimate her powers of shopping.

"You're not wearing your leather coat on my special day, Spike," Buffy says firmly.

"But--"

"No."

"Oh, I can't deny you anything, pet..." Lord, he can hear them kissing.

He jumps as Andrew licks his fingers--and that's simply too much. He stands and announces: "I'm going up to the attic. When you come to your senses, I'll be delighted to hear it."

"Oh, Giles..." Buffy's pout is drowned in more kisses. Giles feels his way to the stairs and escapes as fast as he can manage. Andrew follows on all fours.

In the attic practice space, he might as well be alone. Well, alone with Andrew, which is as alone as he's been for the past year. Andrew whines and butts his thigh with his forehead.

"Yes, good lad." Giles bends down to tousle his hair.

He feels around--there should be--there's a pile of stakes, and that'll do. He tosses one across the attic and Andrew runs after it and brings it back in his mouth. He barks until Giles throws the stake again.

Very nearly restful, this, if one ignores the fact that it's utterly mad.

* * *

  
"Do vampires like cookies?" Willow asks Andrew anxiously as she mixes dough. "Blood cookies! Or meat cookies? Or is that ew?"

"Sounds revolting, duck, but you can bring me a spoon to lick," Spike chimes in. Andrew edges past Willow and sits next to Giles on the couch.

"Hey! How many fingers?" Xander holds up three fingers before Giles's eyes.

"Xander, I would rather not go blind again," Giles replies, brushing Xander's hand away. Xander grins.

"I was really a dog?" Andrew whispers to Giles.

"It was a spell. We were none of us ourselves."

"But that means Willow thinks I'm a dog. Your dog."

"Played a mean game of fetch," Spike says, because _naturally_ he overheard. "Not much of a guard dog, though, a bit too much in the way of a licky tongue and wagging bum."

"There are worse things to be," Xander says.

"You could have been a bunny." Anya shudders.

"Kissing Spike? Much ickier than playing fetch with Giles," Buffy says.

"Yeah? Well, kissing _you_ is like kissing a--" Spike's gaze suddenly drops to the wooden spoon in Buffy's hand. "--kissing your sister," he finishes, slightly more subdued.

Giles hears a slight popping sound--Andrew is clutching the back of the couch so tightly that he's pulling the attached cushion away from the back. "Andrew, it's--"

"I just meant faithful! And loyal! And always around! Those are good things!" Willow cries, and though she has a good heart, Giles dearly wishes she knew when _not_ to speak.

Andrew stands up so violently that he shoves the couch backwards several inches. "Well the thing is that I'm not anyone's dog!" he shouts. "I'm not Angel's, I'm not Drusilla's, and I'm not even his!" Pointing at Giles. Color washes his pale face.

The other children stare at him in shock--Andrew's _never_ raised his voice to them before.

Andrew breathes in sharply and stiffens his shoulders, pulls himself back together. "I'm going out," he says.

"Andrew--" Giles stands, but Andrew is already heading out the door.

The children look at each other. "Okay," Xander says, "what just happened?"

"I think you're not the only one here with issues," Buffy says to Willow. Willow responds with a small whimper.

"Ohh... Sunshine. Wormwood if he's naughty. I'd forgotten." Spike eyes Giles with an insinuating smile.

"Spike?"

Spike looks up at him through his lashes.

"Forget again," Giles says, very softly.

* * *

  
Housing two vampires, even in a three-story house, is wearing.

"We're out of Weetabix," Spike says from the kitchen.

"So?" Andrew replies.

_Can't even scream, can't even cry_... Giles wonder if he can take notes while plugging his ears. Perhaps if he holds the pen in his mouth, or if he fills up his ears with butter.

"I like to crumble the Weetabix up in the blood. Gives it a little texture."

"You're so disgusting."

"Like _you_ know anything about good food." Spike comes out of the kitchen with a box of water crackers and a jar of peanut butter in his hands and bounces backwards onto the couch.

Giles does _wonder_ why Spike eats when Andrew doesn't. Spike can't live off it any more than Andrew does; it's purely recreational, like the cigarettes he isn't addicted to.

"I know that blood-soaked breakfast cereal--"

"Boys! Please!" Giles cries. "While I can still bear to bring fork to mouth."

"Squeamish," Spike says.

Andrew stares at Spike for a long, angry, moment, then sinks into the other chair at the living room worktable. "Sorry, Mr. Giles."

"I understand how much you dislike him, and certainly I sympathize, but I cannot allow you to administer the beating he so richly deserves," Giles sighs.

"Cause you're the good guys," Spike says from the couch.

"Do shut up," Giles tells him. Spike crunches crackers noisily in reply.

Andrew's face tightens again. "You don't even have to eat! You definitely don't have to be so gross."

Spike crosses his boots--the only part of him visible--on the arm of the couch. "And _you_ don't have to have sex, but that doesn't stop you from shagging that demon." Andrew's back stiffens.

Giles raises an eyebrow. So _that's_ where Andrew's been?

"How do you know about him?" Andrew's voice is choked with anger. "You don't get to say anything about him."

"I _followed_ you, nancy boy, and I'll say anything I like." Spike elbows up and smirks at both of them.

Andrew shift into his vampire face. Giles grabs his shoulder. "Andrew! He can't fight back."

Andrew snarls at Spike, his shoulders rocklike with tension, as Xander and Anya walk in. "Well, I think we should talk about it now," Anya is saying.

"Whoa! Someone let the demons out," Xander says. "Is there a scuffle? Should I get a hose?"

Giles releases Andrew's shoulder. "Xander, I need you to take Spike for a few days."

"What?" Spike says.

"What?" Xander says.

"_What_?" Anya says.

"I can control myself! I just want to hit him a _couple_ of times," Andrew says.

"I'm not staying with him!" Spike leaps up from the couch, scattering cracker crumbs over the rug.

"It's not that," Giles says to Andrew, "it's that I have a friend coming to visit and I would rather not expose her to Spike." Her idea to visit. Olivia is a dear friend, a _close_ friend who has never really seen him as relationship material, simply as--well. He hasn't seen her in an age; the last time she visited California was the quiet summer after Buffy defeated the Master.

"Where's your chains? If he's with me, he's getting tied up," Xander says.

Andrew looks at Giles, then drops his demon face and smiles. "That's great, Mr. Giles. I can stay with Joshua."

"And what about our romantic evening?" Anya complains.

"_You_ don't have to go," Giles assures him, "but now that you mention Joshua, I must admit I'm curious..." He would like very much to meet this mystery boy.

"I was going to bring him around--eventually. Soon," Andrew says, smiling wider. "He's a Lothliger demon hybrid. He's really--he's nice."

"I'm not having these two shag while I'm tied to a chair three feet away!" Spike howls.

"Not one of my fantasies either, buddy!" Xander says.

When he smiles, Andrew still looks like the child he was when he was turned. Innocent. Happy. "I'm delighted that you've found someone," Giles says. "I would be honored to meet him."

Anya tugs on Giles's sleeve, diverting his attention. "You could puts a bag over his head and lock him in a closet," she says.

Xander points at her. "There's an idea!"

"Sod you both!"

Giles rubs his temples. "Andrew? Where is Spike's blanket?"

"I'll get it!" Andrew dashes into the kitchen and thunders down the basement stairs.

Anya brightens and turns to Xander. "_We_ could lock him in the closet!"

"I don't _have_ a closet," Xander points out.

"You have a furnace! It has a door. It probably won't turn on."

Spike starts to look panicked. "Watcher! Do something!"

Giles smiles to himself.

* * *

  
"Girlfriend," Buffy says.

"_Friend_," Giles repeats.

"Giiiiirl-friend," she hums. "Admit it!"

"An old _friend_ who's visiting LA on business. Seeing me is an--afterthought."

"Oh, sure. She _wants_ the hot librarian loving, Giles, and ew, bad thought, I'll stop now." She makes a face.

"Thank you." He looks back down at his book.

"And Andrew! On the dating scene. And gay. I guess Xander was right."

"How did you know--?"

"Spike." She rolls her eyes. "He left, like, a fifteen minute message on my answering machine, wanting me to rescue him from Xander and Anya. Like I'm going to stow _him_ in my dorm room? He said something about Andrew and a demon boyfriend and chains and Anya trying to set him on fire?"

"We talked her out of that."

"Why are we keeping him around, exactly?" Buffy asks. "Spike?"

"You seemed to like him well enough before..." he says, carefully not smiling.

She jumps to her feet. "That was a spell! The thing with Spike and lips was a spell! Bad Willow! Spells! And--" She points a finger. "No teasing! You're a grownup, you're not allowed to tease!"

"Oh _dear_," he says. "Terribly sorry."

Buffy crosses her arms and frowns. "Any progress on the song thingy I told you about?"

"You mean in the time I've been talking to you? I'm afraid not."

She rolls her eyes and paces the room. "So."

"Yes?"

"You date. Girls."

"Women, yes." And sometimes--well, no, he never _dated_ men.

"Does your job ever get in the way?"

"Yes." Jenny--poor, dear Jenny, infected with Eyghon, killed by Angel.

Buffy remembers her as well, he can see it in her eyes. "What do you do about it? How do you deal?"

"Honesty."

"Yeah." She leans against the stairs. "I was hoping you were going to say 'magic spell'."

"Is there some reason you can't simply tell him the truth?"

Buffy gives him an incredulous look. "You, Mister Secrets, Mister Sacred Duty?"

"Mister Threw-the-Handbook-Out-the-Window," Giles reminds her. "Your entire graduating class in effect found out your secret without dire effect. I have faith in your ability to choose a suitor."

"What, even after--"

"Yes."

"And--"

"Yes."

Buffy smiles like the sun breaking through the trees. It warms him.

Giles stands. "Would you like some tea?"

"Tea," she echoes, still smiling, not really listening.

"It's a drink made with leaves," he says, and she snaps out of her reverie.

"When you put it like _that_, how can I say no?" She grins again.

Giles puts the kettle on and readies the tea tray for four. Olivia won't arrive for another hour entire, but Andrew is due to return at any moment with his boyfriend.

Giles is both pleased and terrified at that prospect. Andrew claims his young man is a nice boy, but if he isn't? If Giles harmed him more than he knows? If he's being abused--or if he's the abuser. Andrew's reaction to Spike was--is--shocking. Andrew contains more violence than Giles thought.

Demons within, Giles thinks; in this case, quite literal. He rubs the back of his neck, watching the flame flicker under the kettle. He'll see.

"You know, a watched pot never boils," Buffy says. Giles jumps and bangs his head against the spice rack. "Also, I think Andrew and his boyfriend are coming up the sidewalk. Are you okay?"

Giles rubs his head. "Yes, once the ringing in my ears dies down. Thank you."

"Sure thing!" She follows him back into the living room as Andrew opens the door. A young man enters the house beside him: smiling, attractive, entirely human in appearance apart from the sunglasses he's wearing in full dark.

"Hi," Andrew says, looking at Buffy and Giles in turn. "So--this is Joshua. Joshua, this is Mr. Giles--I told you about him--and this is Buffy Summers, the Slayer."

Joshua puts out his hand to Giles first. "I'm so glad to meet you. I really, really like Andrew."

"I'm fond of him myself," Giles replies. He wishes the boy would take his sunglasses off. His expression is quite impenetrable.

Joshua turns to Buffy. "And--wow. The Slayer. Hi." He shakes her hand as well.

"We've never fought or anything, have we? Because you look kind of familiar." She cocks her head and examines him.

His eyes widen. "I don't think so? I've never gotten into a fight with anyone, ever. Maybe you're thinking of my brother? Or--do you go to UC Sunnydale?"

"Yeah!" Buffy says.

Joshua grins and nods. "Yeah! Maybe we have a class."

She snaps her fingers and points at him. "Psych? With Walsh? I always had the feeling there was someone demony around, but you know--Sunnydale."

"Yeah! I kind of had the same feeling. Maybe it's her?" Joshua shuts his mouth suddenly. "Oh--you know about the demon thing?"

Buffy waves her hand. "As long as you don't eat babies or attack my friends? No big."

"Cool." Joshua takes off his sunglasses, revealing glowing orange eyes without pupil or white. "I eat pizza," he says, and smiles.

The kettle whistles and Giles moves to retrieve it. "Please, have a seat," he says.

"DO you like him?" Andrew asks, quietly and anxiously, following him to the kitchen.

"So far." Giles rinses the teapot with boiling water, then adds the leaves and fills it. "Carry this, please?" He hands Andrew the tray and takes a box of biscuits from the shelf--he forgot the sweets. The sugar intake of the children is appalling, but he can't bring himself to deny them.

Giles brings the biscuits out on a plate. Andrew sets out the teacups while Buffy and Joshua discuss the class--or rather, their classmates. "That guy who always sits in the first row? The blond? Hot _and_ smart," Joshua says.

"Agreed," Buffy sighs. "But the black guy with, you know, the hat?"

"The Hat of Confusion."

"Totally. But despite the hat? Yum. Ooh! Cookies!"

"The TA isn't so bad either," Joshua says. "Riley. Riley with the arms."

"Buffy's kind of dating Riley," Andrew says as he sits down beside Joshua.

"Oh!" Joshua blinks rapidly.

"Really good arms," Buffy agrees.

"I wasn't going to mack. Really!" Joshua's ears darken visibly, gold to brown.

Buffy pats him comfortingly on the shoulder. "Gotcha. No macking."

Giles pours the tea. "I understand that you're a Lothliger hybrid, Joshua? I'm not familiar with that term." He seats himself in the armchair next to the couch where the three children sit.

"I'm part human and part Lothliger demon, like both my parents." Joshua seems--quite ordinary. Thin and reasonably tall with red-black hair and golden skin shading to an odd brick red at his lips and ears; pretty, but not pretty in the uncanny way of an incubus. He leans into Andrew's body subtly, neither asking him for cues nor overpowering him. He smiles easily. He's unafraid of any of them, though understandably shy of the Slayer.

This may be a healthy relationship.

Giles wasn't quite prepared for that.

Joshua continues: "We came from another dimension about a hundred and fifty years ago. There was some kind of war with another kind of demon and a bunch of my people thought it was stupid, so we came here."

"Like the Pilgrims!" Buffy says. "Did you have ships?"

"We had orbs. My grandfather still has one. It's blue. And shiny," Joshua says.

"Cool."

"We've been intermarrying a lot since then. There aren't many full-blood left. We're mostly pretty peaceful, so you've probably never run into us before," he says to Buffy.

"There are a great many assimilated demon families out there--especially in Los Angeles, for some reason," Giles says.

Joshua nods. "My grandparents on both sides and a bunch of my aunts and uncles are up there. I went to Sunnydale for the archaeology program."

Giles clears his throat as Buffy and Andrew wince.

"I said something wrong," Joshua says.

"We don't like it when people dig things up around here," Andrew says.

"Last time, we were attacked by dead Native Americans in a totally understandable cultural conflict that was probably our fault," Buffy says.

"And the time before that, someone dug up the evil demon Acathla and the world almost ended and I got turned into a vampire." Andrew's voice is very quiet; Joshua takes his hand.

"Maybe I should change my major," Joshua says. "I don't want to end the world."

Giles removes his glasses and cleans them automatically. "As long as you don't dig up anything around _here_ you should be all right--but the earth in Sunnydale scarcely covers the evil that lies beneath."

Joshua smiles shyly and looks down at Andrew's hand. Buffy downs her tea. "Okay. Off to patrol. See you in class, Joshua."

"Oh, yeah! Remember the quiz on Monday," he says. He and Andrew stand when Buffy does.

"We should go too. I just need to get some clothes and blood," Andrew says.

Giles nods. "There's a thermal bag somewhere. We can pack it with ice."

* * *

  
"It's a lovely day, don't you think?" Giles says. He's twitched the curtains back for once, and the California sunshine turns everything golden.

"Marvelous," Olivia agrees.

"Though of course it's always like this--California."

"Of course."

"I did so miss speaking."

"I dreamed I was giving a speech before the United Nations on the strategic importance of cheddar," Olivia says. "It was lovely--I didn't want to wake up."

Giles leans back and looks into the living room. "The boys, of course, are of a different mind on the subject." Andrew's fingers flex in Joshua's hair as their mouths work together. They've been kissing for nearly an hour entire.

"Kids," Olivia says, and smiles.

"If you had the chance, would you be seventeen again?"

"Lord, no. All those hormones? Bad enough the first time."

He should know by now not to ask questions he's not certain how to answer. When _he_ was seventeen... he was studying under the Watcher eye, sneaking cigarettes and learning to swear on the sly, becoming fully aware of his family legacy and all that it entailed. When he was nineteen, Joshua's age, he was at Oxford, learning about rock and roll and all the new and exciting forms of pharmaceutical recreation. He didn't meet Ethan until he was twenty-one.

If he had the chance to do it over, would he reject that path?

Several people would still be alive. Several more would be dead.

"You stopped talking," Olivia says, "I thought we weren't going to do that."

"I'm sorry, I was only thinking..."

If he'd never embraced his own darkness, if his own soul weren't muddied and dim, could he show Buffy how to shine? Or would he be like Wesley, drowning in propriety, too strangled by the Handbook and the Council to do anything more than bury her body after the first fight?

"We're all the sum of our experiences," Giles says.

The front door bangs open. Giles leaps up from his chair; Andrew leaps up from the couch and looks to Giles. His lips are red from kissing.

Spike runs past the boys, covered by a smoking blanket. "Sweet buggering _hell_ it's bright!" he bellows. He bulls his way into the kitchen and falls backwards, crying out at the light from the window.

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon. What did you expect, exactly?" Giles asks, but Spike doesn't notice, since Andrew is snarling at the top of his lungs.

"Cork it, Snappy," Spike says as he gets to his feet. As soon as he stands, Andrew punches him.

"Boys! Stop that!" Giles commands them. Both vampires show their demon faces and snarl at each other; Spike clenches his fists. Andrew hits Spike once more before Spike loses his temper and hits back.

Andrew staggers backwards, blood on his mouth. Spike presses his hand to his forehead--but straightens up. "Nothing," Spike says.

Spike whirls and hits Giles and shouts with pain. Giles retreats into the kitchen holding his nose--the vampire has a punch like the kick of a horse. Blood trickles down his wrist.

"My God, your nose!" Olivia cries. "I'll call the police. Who _is_ that man?"

Giles shakes his head. "He's a vampire, there's nothing the police can do." There's one or two things _he_ can do, however.

"Can't hit the _Watcher_, can hit the _puppy_," Spike mutters. "Oh, I can fight all right--I can fight _demons_! Come here, you little sod! Big Bad is back!"

Spike leaps at Andrew and throws him back against the wall. Andrew fight back hard, but even his training with the Slayer leaves him no match for the older, stronger vampire; Spike grabs his neck and punches him so hard Andrew's head dents the plaster.

"Holy water," Giles says, pinching his nose and fumbling at the kitchen cabinets. He's sure he has some, he did a resupply only last month...

Joshua hits Spike with a decorative war club from the wall. Spike throws Andrew at him and both boys tumble against the couch.

Giles can't find the damned Holy Water. Olivia snatches a carving knife from the block and hovers in the doorway. She's terrified; she didn't come down for this.

Spike drops down on Andrew's back and twists his arm up behind him. "Not so cocky _now_, are you, pup? Say Uncle! No--say _arf_."

Andrew seethes underneath him and Giles has had _quite_ enough of this. He takes the other carving knife from the block. He's never had occasion to cut a man's head off, but he knows the technique.

Spike looks in the opposite direction as the front door opens again. "Hey, Giles--HEY!" Buffy says, and charges into the living room, kicking Spike square in the back. Spike rolls, rounds on her and falls to his knees shouting in pain.

"What's the deal? Is the chip out?" Buffy asks him.

"Apparently it doesn't work on demons." Giles looks down at the knife and hides it behind his back.

"He's an evil little _git_ and I _earned_ a little punching!" Spike protests. "He bloody well tortured me when he had me tied up!"

Giles sets the knife on the couch table and kneels next to Andrew and Joshua. "He did no such thing," Giles says, checking each boy for serious injury. They both are battered but conscious; they sit up awkwardly.

"That's what I figured," Buffy says. She grabs Spike and hauls him to the door--past her boyfriend, Riley, who's seen the entire thing, good Lord.

Buffy stops just past the threshold, where the shadow of the house still protects Spike. "Who's the boss here?" she asks him.

"What?"

"Who's the boss? Who's got your nuts in her hand? I want to hear you say it."

"You're crazy, Slayer--" Spike writhes in her grasp, but she has him in an iron grip.

"That's right. Slayer. Slayer is the boss. And this is your one warning, which you _only_ get because you've been such a helpful little bloodsucker. But now? That debt is canceled. Mess with my friends again and you'll be tasting dust. From the inside." She shoves him away, tosses his blanket outside and locks the door.

"Ow," Joshua says. He leans against Andrew and Andrew kisses his cheek.

Riley points at the door. "That was Hostile 17."

"Yeah?"

"So, I need my phone." Riley pats down his pockets.

Giles clears his throat. Riley freezes and really looks at him for the first time. "I see there's some explaining to be done," Giles says.

"That's kind of why we're here. I need you to explain Slayering to Riley. And Riley needs to tell us everything about the Initiative," Buffy says. Riley looks distressed.

"I could have taken him," Andrew growls softly.

"Absolutely, baby." Joshua kisses Andrew on the forehead.

"And _he_ is a demon," Riley says, looking at Joshua.

"Good eye." Buffy takes his arm. "No killing your own students."

"Joshua? With the sunglasses and the last name? I had no idea," Riley says.

"This is Sunnydale. Demons a-go-go. If they were all like Joshua my job would be way easier." She and Riley sit at the worktable; Andrew and Joshua curl up again on the couch.

Giles lets his breath out. "Tea all around."

Olivia is still standing in the doorway with a knife. "I'll have a beer," she says, looking stunned.

* * *

  
...and three quarters:

Andrew wakes up first. He's in a blank white room with a glass door. Joshua is sprawled on the floor near him. They both have their regular clothes on, though Andrew's gloves are gone.

It's not jail. It's the Initiative.

The white-coated scientist that strolls by a minute later just confirms it.

Across the hall is another cell holding four forlorn-looking Bracken demons. A family group, probably; a mom, a dad, two teenage boys. They hold hands and watch him through the glass.

Andrew crawls toward Joshua. He's bleeding and Andrew slips his demon face automatically--but it doesn't mean anything; he cradles Joshua in his arms without taking a lick.

"Mm. Andrew?"

"I'm here."

"What happened?"

"I think..." His head is clearing. "We got in a fight with those big guys who called us faggots? And I kind of growled at them? And they were actually Initiative soldiers. So now we're in the Initiative."

"The what?" Joshua turns his face into Andrew's hand and groans.

"The guys who captured Spike. You know, when I kept complaining about rooming with Spike? He was with us because of them."

Joshua's sunglasses are gone, so his eyes blaze out. "The ones who kill demons? And experiment on them? They have us?"

"Yeah."

Joshua sits up and Andrew hugs him close. "I'll protect you," Andrew says. "Anyone trying to hurt you has to go through me."

Joshua kisses him hard. "And I'll protect you."

They huddle together in the corner, watching the Bracken demons.

* * *

  
Andrew rests his chin on Joshua's sleeping head. They've been there for hours; it must be morning, or nearly.

A soldier looks into the cell. Andrew looks back. The soldier gestures to someone Andrew can't see and Andrew clutches Joshua closer. "What?" Joshua asks sleepily.

"I don't know."

The door opens; a soldier points a gun in Andrew's face. "Stay right there," the soldier says.

Andrew stays right there as two other soldiers drag people in and dump them on the floor. That is--they drag vampires in. And then lock the door on them all.

"Oh, man," Joshua whispers.

"Do you have a pencil or something?"

Joshua shakes his head. "My pockets are empty. Andrew--"

Andrew looks at him. Joshua cups his face in his hands and kisses him intently. "Just in case we die," Joshua says, and kisses him again.

One of the vampires stirs.

* * *

  
"Andrew!" Joshua yelps. "I have him!"

Andrew punches the other vampire again and looks at Joshua. Joshua is--okay, he's lying on the vampires head with his elbow in his neck. That works.

Andrew jumps over and claws down through the vampire's rib cage with his strong right hand. He yanks out two ribs, splattering them both with blood and exposing the heart. He punches straight down onto the heart and the vampire dusts around his hand.

"Dude!" says the other vampire. "Uncool!"

Andrew broke his index finger and probably the stump of his middle finger as well. He stares at the other vampire and gives him a long, meaningful growl.

The other vampire raises his hands. "Fine! He's _your_ dinner, whatever. Jeez."

"Keep your damn distance!" Andrew growls. He helps Joshua to his feet and backs them both against the glass door.

"Freak. Hey, do you know Spike? You'd _like_ Spike," the other vampire says. He crouches in the opposite corner and pouts.

His fingers are definitely broken. Nothing hurts quite like a broken bone. But he can't show weakness.

* * *

  
Andrew's hand is stiffening up. He's hungry--he hasn't eaten or slept in 24 hours and he's covered in blood.

Human blood, straight from the vampire's heart.

The soldiers didn't feed any of them. There must be something going on. The other vampire is looking cranky, but hasn't tried to attack them again.

Then the lights go red and the door opens. Andrew jumps to his feet, Joshua right behind him.

Everyone's door is open. The Brackens are already running, strong legs carrying them swiftly down the hall. The vampire pushes past them; a Fyarl howls and is answered by a hellhound.

Joshua grabs his right hand. Andrew roars in pain and excitement and they run.

Outside it's chaos. Monsters are running all over the lab, which is _huge_\--like the size of a football field. "I can't see an exit!" Joshua cries. "How do we get out?"

A Ragna beast, eyes green with hunger, whoops and leaps at them. Andrew hits it with a chair and then they're charged by the Fyarl.

Mucus, he remembers from when Giles was a Fyarl, and silver, and there isn't any silver around. He breaks the chair over the demon's head and looks around for something else; Joshua hits it with a length of stair railing and the demon snorts at them and runs in another direction.

A vampire runs at Joshua and falls into dust two strides away. Another vampire charges through the dust cloud and grabs Andrew--then says "oh, it's you."

It's Spike. "How do we get out?" Andrew demands.

"Fucking hell, I don't know, all the exits are locked. We want the Slayer," Spike says, looking around. "Slayer and her merry men are--" He breaks off and kicks a vampire in the face.

Andrew spies a pencil on a desk, grabs it and stakes the vampire.

"What are you doing here?" Spike asks.

"We got caught." Andrew looks for Joshua and sees him fending off a werewolf with the stair railing. Andrew charges in and kicks the werewolf in the side; it howls and bites his leg.

Fortunately for Andrew, he's dead and the werewolf venom won't affect him. He grabs another chair and beats it down. "Come on!" Spike yells over the sound of taser fire. "Slayer's this way!"

Andrew takes Joshua's hand and they run. Overhead, someone has a flamethrower, and Andrew hears a dozen non-human screams; to his left, a knot of scientists huddles under a desk, circled by a dozen demons matted with blood. To his right a vampire is draining a soldier while a hellhound tears his arm off and the family of Bracken demons is taking turns punching another soldier in the stomach.

Spike leads them down a hallway. Another werewolf--maybe the same werewolf--bounds down the hall and knocks open a door marked 314. "Bloody hell," Spike mutters and tackles it.

The werewolf stands up and slams Spike back against the wall. Andrew grabs its arm and jaw and rips its throat out with his teeth.

Spike shoves past him. "Thank God we were here!" he says, hanging in the doorway. "That thing would have killed you all."

Andrew looks down. The werewolf reverted back to human form in death; it's just some middle-aged guy lying there.

Joshua takes his left hand and tugs him into the room. Where--everyone is there. Buffy, Riley, Willow, Xander, Mr. Giles, they all just saw him kill that creature with his teeth. "Yes, thank you for saving us from the situation you helped create," Mr. Giles says to Spike.

"But I did save you, you saw that, right?"

Buffy is staring at Andrew. "How did you get in here?" she asks.

Andrew looks down at himself. He's covered in blood head to toe. The blood of the werewolf. "We were captured," Joshua says, "by the soldiers, last night, and they dumped us in a cell with two vampires who wanted to eat me. Andrew was very brave."

She raises her eyebrows and looks worried. Andrew feels sick--she could change her mind, any minute she could change her mind and just stake him, because she's the Slayer and Andrew was just-- "Are you okay? We didn't even know," she says.

"Andrew protected me. We protected each other," Joshua says, holding Andrew's hand tight. There's werewolf blood in Andrew's mouth. It's gamey.

Riley touches the Slayer's arm and says, "We still got men out there."

"Well, let's go save 'em, by gum!" Spike says.

Buffy shoots Spike a disgusted look and turns to Mr. Giles, Willow and Xander. "You guys get to the exits, get them open." Then to Riley: "You, organize the soldiers, pull them back.  I'll take point."

Mr. Giles takes Andrew's shoulder as they file through the door. 

Andrew's still alive.

* * *

  
Buffy and Mrs. Summers are looking at the wound left when Riley dug the chip out of his own chest. "This is deep, Riley," Buffy's mom says.

"You really did that yourself?" Buffy says.

Willow and Xander are slumped together on Mrs. Summers' couch, napping. Joshua is fussing over Andrew's hand and Tara holds an ice pack to Mr. Giles's eye.

"It's not--look, it's barely even bleeding," Riley says, poking at the gash.

Andrew stands up and limps over to Riley. "Andrew?" Joshua asks, shadowing him.

Andrew doesn't say anything; he still tastes blood in his mouth. Buffy and Riley both give him a funny look as he plants himself in front of Riley and leans down to sniff at his chest. 

"Um," Riley says.

"You've got demon in the wound," Andrew says, "and you smell kind of red. It might be dirty."

"Red?"

"Healthy people smell yellow. Like--marigolds." He knows how marigolds smell because of his grandmother's garden, he realizes. He used to help her weed when he was little. She told him what all the flowers and weeds were called.

He isn't ever doing that again--not because he's a vampire, but because she's dead.

He feels kind of weird.

"Vampire senses. Very useful," Buffy says. "Hospital. Now."

Riley raises his hands. "Fine."

"I'll drive you--Andrew, honey, I think you broke that finger. You should come too," Mrs. Summers says.

Mr. Giles takes the ice pack off his eye. "I'll see to Andrew, Joyce. You go ahead."

"Well, broken fingers--"

"No pulse," Mr. Giles reminds her. "Even the most incompetent nurse notices that."

"Of course." She shakes her head. "Buffy, are you coming?"

"Yeah." Buffy links arms with Riley and helps him out of his chair. Buffy is a little bruised, but basically fine, even after fighting demons all night.

She's the Slayer. She'll bounce back until she has one real bad day, and then she'll die, and be replaced. She's born to die.

Except maybe Buffy won't be replaced, because she already _was_. She's kind of undead, like him.

Andrew feels really sick.

Buffy and Riley and her mom leave. Mr. Giles limps over and sits next to Andrew. _He_ got tossed into a wall and shows it. He won't ever be replaced, not by anyone.

Mr. Giles sighs. "Always fingers, isn't it?" he remarks, giving Andrew a little smile. His right ring finger ends without a nail. It's not obvious, not like Andrew's, but it's just one of the hurts Mr. Giles took from Angel.

"I pulled a guy's heart out of his chest." Tara, bent over the first aid kit, looks up sharply. "A vampire's heart," Andrew says. "A vampire trying to eat Joshua." So that's okay. That's okay.

Tara smiles halfway. 

"Good job," Mr. Giles says. "That's not easy."

"It was totally amazing," Joshua says. He kisses Andrew's cheek. "You're my hero."

"You keep saying that." He feels like his heart should be beating, but it's not, it won't ever again, because he's dead.

"Sure, because it's _true_..." Joshua turns his face to him and kisses Andrew between the eyes.

"Two and one," Mr. Giles says softly before pulling Andrew's index finger straight. Andrew yowls and Joshua shushes him with kisses.

"Huh? Whuh? Danger?" Xander looks around muzzy-eyed. Willow doesn't budge, though; she's tucked up with her hand on his shoulder and her cheek on her hand.

"Go back to sleep, Xander," Mr. Giles says.

"You sure? My heart is pure as donuts." Xander's eyes are already closed again as he gestures in Mr. Giles's general direction. Tara smiles at them.

"Quite sure." Mr. Giles binds Andrew's index finger into a splint and tapes the stump of his middle finger to the side.

Andrew looks down at his clothes, still covered in dried blood. "Mr. Giles..." His stomach turns over. He's buzzing from the taste of living blood.

"I'm sorry that you boys were captured, though I was glad to have you there for the fight in the end." Mr. Giles tapes the stump of Andrew's ring finger to his little finger.

"But the way I fought--" Living blood, _werewolf_ blood in his mouth. _Oz_ is a werewolf.

"Was necessary. We all fought, Andrew."

"We could have died a whole bunch of times if you hadn't been so brave," Joshua says. "I really need to learn to fight if I'm going to hang around you guys."

"But I killed."

"I saw." Mr. Giles meets his eyes. "You acted quickly and quite possibly saved our lives."

"He was--" Human. Like Oz. The Slayer is going to kill him. The Slayer is_ right_ to kill him.

"You did nothing wrong."

"I didn't?"

"No."

Andrew shivers all over and Joshua hugs him close. "You're a good boy," Mr. Giles says.

* * *

  
"Shush!" Xander says.

"Jeez! I'm sorry for talking to my _boyfriend_ while you're watching old guys hit each other with sticks," Buffy says. She and Riley are sitting at the living room worktable with Mr. Giles, whittling stakes and sharpening axes.

"They're swords made of light, they're not sticks," Andrew says.

"I regret to inform you that you are no longer my friend," Xander says to Buffy. "I'm sorry, but I have to put my foot down somewhere, and that is where I'm putting it. This is Star Wars and it is not to be mocked." Buffy rolls her eyes and Dawn giggles.

"Why are you putting your foot on her?" Anya asks. "I want all your body parts."

"It was just an expression, honey." Xander rewinds the scene with a vigorous punch of his thumb.

Joshua is on the couch with Xander and Anya; Andrew is leaning against his legs. Dawn is on the floor beside Andrew hogging the popcorn.

Tara and Willow are giggling in the kitchen. They said they were making hot chocolate, but there's no milk in the fridge. They haven't noticed yet.

Xander restarts the scene.

"I've been waiting for you, Obi-Wan. We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete." Andrew can't help but whisper the words along. "When I left you, I was the learner, but now I am the master."

"Only a master of evil, Darth," Xander says along with Obi-Wan.

"Clearly there are ways and ways of talking during movies," Mr. Giles says.

"Your powers are weak, old man!" Andrew echoes a little louder than he needs to. He looks over Dawn's head and sees Mr. Giles not-smiling at him in amusement.

Dawn throws popcorn at him. "Don't waste popcorn on the floor!" Anya protests. "Give it to me!"

On-screen, alone, Obi-Wan says: "You can't win, Darth. If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine."

Andrew smiles and rubs his cheek against Joshua's knee happily.

Xander pauses the tape and Andrew shifts up, looking at the door. "Are you expecting anyone?" Buffy asks Giles.

"No."

"_Great_," Buffy sighs. "I'll get it."

"Right behind you," Riley says. He grabs a machete and limps over to the door with Buffy. Buffy grips her stake and opens the door.

And freezes.

Andrew can't see who's there. "Buffy?" Giles asks.

"Angel," she whispers.

Angel. Andrew hoped he would never see him again. Andrew kneels up into Joshua's lap.

"Hi. Can we come in?" Angel asks.

"Uh. We? Sure. Giles, can you invite him in?"

"I've actually been here before," Angel says, stepping over the threshold. He looks--different than Andrew remembers. "Cordelia and Wes are in the car. We're here on business."

"Oh. _Oh_," Buffy says. "Oh, man. What now?" She flops back into her chair. Riley limps after her and lowers himself slowly into his own.

"Hello, Angel," Giles says.

"_Angel_," Dawn says, rolling her eyes at Andrew.

"Oh, you came inside this time," Anya said. "That's good. Lying is complicated."

"That's not all that's complicated," Xander says, just loud enough for Anya and Andrew's vampire ears.

Then there's a pause. Angel shifts from foot to foot. Andrew stares at him balefully, but Angel is looking at Buffy.

"Cordy had a vision," Angel says finally. "Demon attack."

"Oh," Buffy says.

Angel nods and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"On who?" Buffy asks.

"Oh. Them," Angel says, pointing to Andrew and Joshua.

Andrew slides his hand up Joshua's thigh. He doesn't like Angel pointing at Josh--he doesn't like Angel _looking_ at Josh. "Angel, this is Joshua, my boyfriend," Andrew says. "Joshua, this is Angel. A couple of years ago he kidnapped me, tortured me, and turned me into a vampire. But it's okay, because he has a soul now."

Everyone looks at Andrew. Andrew glares at Angel. Angel looks at the floor.

Joshua squeezes Andrew's shoulder and Andrew feels the tension drain out of him. He sinks down against Joshua's knees with his arms crossed over Joshua's thighs.

"So--that was a ten-second conversation that could easily have taken place over the phone. Why exactly are you here?" Buffy asks.

Cordelia pokes her head in the door. "_Shopping_! The bossman got his entire wardrobe blown up by the forces of evil. Now he needs new pants."

"I've been washing them," Angel protests.

"Nothing gets out the slime of evil. I should know. Hi!" she says, and hugs everyone, even Andrew.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is behind her, stubbly and bandaged. He looks pretty good, pretty--well, hot, in a shirt and jeans with no tie. He doesn't hug anyone, just shakes hands with Mr. Giles.

"You!" Cordelia says. "I saw you in my vision. Hi!" She hugs Joshua and Joshua hugs back.

"Hi," Joshua says, sounding kind of confused.

Cordelia spreads her hands. "I have no idea who you are and yet I want to keep you from dying! I love this job!"

"He's my boyfriend," Andrew says.

"Oh! So Xander was right the whole time?"

"Cordy!" Xander yelps.

"What?" Cordelia beams and turns to Buffy and Dawn, who have the ad section of the morning's paper between them.

"Angel!" Willow emerges from the kitchen and flings her arms around Angel's neck. "Hi! Have you met Tara? This is Tara! She's my... Tara!"

Angel blinks at Tara. "Hi."

Andrew takes Joshua's hand and slides past Cordelia toward Mr. Wyndam-Pryce and Mr. Giles.

"...and is ATC still there? Because oh my GOD have I missed that. And Sugarplum! But for Angel--he's so completely _Maximilian_," Cordelia exclaims to Buffy, who is nodding in understanding.

"Dear lord, I hope she doesn't expect me to join her," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce murmurs to Mr. Giles.

"Buck up. Stiff upper lip," Mr. Giles says.

"Sore lower back. I'm afraid I was caught in that wardrobe-decimating explosion." Mr. Wyndam-Pryce sees Andrew. "Andrew. Yes. And your friend is Joshua?"

"Joshua Kariakanitenitaus." Joshua shakes hands with Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce cocks his head. "Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but are you by any chance part demon?"

Joshua isn't wearing his sunglasses, so his eyes are blazing out, reflecting like the sunset off Mr. Wyndam-Pryce's glasses. "I'm a Lothliger hybrid," Joshua says.

"Of course. I thought the last name sounded familiar. I suppose it's easy enough to hide--"

Joshua nods. "Sunglasses. My sister wears contacts. And most people just don't notice the tongue."

"Is your last name anglicized at all?" Mr. Wyndam-Pryce asks.

"No, just transliterated. The vowels aren't quite right in English--it drives my sister nuts. She's all into our heritage and stuff. She says we should use umlauts and maybe an apostrophe, but you know, it's hard enough to spell as it is." Joshua grins.

"Quite," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce sighs.

"Carmela's!" Dawn cries. 

"Carmela's!" Cordelia shrieks.

"Carmela's!" Buffy shouts.

"CARMELA'S!" Anya screams.

Buffy and Cordelia seize Angel's arms. "Carmela's!" all four women chorus in unison. Angel looks terrified. It brings a smile to Andrew's face.

"Ooh, I want to come!" says Willow.

* * *

  
Joshua is sprawled in his lap, fast asleep. His fingers curl and uncurl as Andrew pets his cheek. In the kitchen, Buffy and Riley are having a tense, whispered conversation:

Riley: So, Angel.  
Buffy: Don't.  
Riley: I just want to know what kind of man he is.  
Buffy: He has a good soul.  
Riley: Which doesn't always stay put.

And Mr. Giles and Xander stand in the stair landing, having a conversation of their own:

Xander: Have you noticed that Andrew is different lately?  
Mr. Giles: Different how?  
Xander: Different like an anger management PSA. You heard what he said about Angel.  
Mr. Giles: He has a rather dry sense of humor, Xander. It's all the BBC America.  
Xander: You weren't looking at his face.

Andrew isn't meant to hear either of these conversations. He strokes Joshua's hair and listens.

Buffy: You have no idea how close you are to me punching you in the face.  
Riley: Okay.  
Buffy: Don't.  
Riley: Can we talk about Spike?  
Buffy: What about him?

Mr. Giles: What did you see?  
Xander: The face of a guy who really hates Angel. It's a popular face. A lot of people wear it.  
Mr. Giles: Andrew won't act on his feelings.  
Xander: How do you know?  
Mr. Giles: Because he never has.

Riley: That he's still dangerous even if he can't hurt people directly.  
Buffy: Strangely, I'm more concerned with the things that are hurting people directly.  
Riley: It would take five minutes to stake him.  
Buffy: Now that he's helpless to defend himself? Sure. Then we can go drink beer and feel really macho.  
Riley: It's not about macho! It's about you and your friends and not getting killed!

Xander: I'm sure there's some fancy Latin for this, but in plain English: what he's done in the past? Not a guarantee for what he'll do in the future.  
Mr. Giles: I know what he wants, and I know that it's hanging before him like an apple on the branch. I've never found him in my bed with his fangs in my neck.  
Xander: Or just in your bed?  
Mr. Giles: I'm sure I don't know what you mean.  
Xander: That he's been president of the Let's All Be Giles Club since he was fourteen? And now, hey! Gay.

Buffy: I don't kill the helpless.  
Riley: This isn't a big game hunt.  
Buffy: No, it's the battle between good and evil. And what makes good different from evil is that we have rules.  
Riley: And he's evil.  
Buffy: And I can't kill him.

Mr. Giles: Are you still worried that homosexuality is catching?  
Xander: Hey! This conversation? Not about _my_ issues.  
Mr. Giles: ...No. I apologize.  
Xander: It's about Andrew, the Golden Vampire, who for reasons I _still_ don't understand we never gave a soul.  
Mr. Giles: With a soul he can never have happiness.

Riley: I don't... No. I do get that.  
Buffy: These aren't rules I can just bend. Not and be me.  
Riley: I guess that's why you're the Slayer.

Xander: Yeah, but with a soul he has a leash.  
Mr. Giles: Which he doesn't need.  
Xander: You're sure--I guess, yeah, you're sure. I'm taking a lot on faith here, Giles.

Someone touches his shoulder and Andrew jerks upright. "I'm going to bed," Mr. Giles says. "Cordelia and Wesley are staying in the spare bedroom. Angel took Dawn home--I think they're planning on an early start to the shopping trip, though I don't know how they intend to get Angel in the door. Are you free for research tomorrow?"

"Free as a bird," Andrew says, and smiles.

Mr. Giles smiles down at Joshua. "You should get your young man to bed."

"I'm just going to get some dinner first," Andrew says, looking at the kitchen.

Mr. Giles nods. "Goodnight."

Andrew slips out from under Joshua as Mr. Giles heads upstairs. In the kitchen, Riley is kissing Buffy passionately against the table. Andrew slips past them for a glass and some blood.

Buffy squeaks when the microwave starts. "Hi!"

"Hey! You two want a ride home?" Xander bounds into the kitchen twirling a key ring around his finger. "The G-man lent me his wheels. What do you think, A-man, does J-man want a ride home too? By way of, say, Las Vegas?"

The microwave beeps and Andrew retrieves his blood. "Josh is staying here tonight."

The other three stand and watch him drink. Buffy and Xander jerk away and look at each other. "You can take us home. By way of home. As in, my home," Buffy says, swinging Riley's hand.

"I've gotta ask," Riley says.

"Riley!" Buffy whispers.

"What does that _taste_ like?" Staring at Andrew's blood.

Andrew licks his lips. "Well--this is pig, so it tastes kind of like pork. But mostly like blood."

"Huh," Riley says. "And that's good?"

"They all do it, it must be fun," Buffy says.

The blood hits his stomach and he slips into his demon face. "You know how it feels after you've had a really good meal? When you're full and kind of happy? That's what the blood is like going down. It makes you happy."

"Yay blood," says Buffy.

"Goodnight," says Andrew.

Riley still stares at his glass as Buffy pulls him out of the kitchen.

Andrew puts his empty glass in the sink and goes to carry his boyfriend to bed.

* * *

  
Footsteps wake Andrew up: light, quick steps and slower, limping steps, both unfamiliar. Probably Cordelia and Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.

The lighter steps leave, banging the front door. The limping steps remain and put the kettle on. Mr. Giles still isn't up. The spell he worked for the Slayer left him drained.

When the kettle whistles, it wakes Joshua up. He looks at Andrew and smiles.

Andrew kisses him. "Just a minute," Joshua murmurs, "I have to go pee." He slips out of bed and hurries upstairs in his t-shirt and boxer-briefs.

There's a brief shaft of indirect sunlight when Joshua opens the door. Andrew hears him greet Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. He hears Mr. Giles get up, as well.

Mr. Giles's joints crack and he groans a few times when he gets up, especially on days after a fight. Andrew _knows_ Mr. Giles in great shape for a human his age, but it's still so _hard_ for him sometimes. He wishes he could make him feel better. He wishes there was a way.

He hears Mr. Giles and Joshua say good morning, then Joshua runs down the first flight of stairs and Andrew strips off his underwear and lies on top of the covers. It makes Joshua grin when he comes back down the basement steps.

"Okay," Joshua says, "we were in the middle of something..." He drops his clothes on the floor and bounces onto Andrew's bed and kisses him, all minty and clean.

Andrew pulls him down and they're both hard, of course, and he thinks about his books on gayness and the stuff they haven't tried yet but decides he knows what he wants to do. "Can you do me?" he murmurs in Joshua's ear. He slides his hand over Joshua's butt and tugs on the back of his thigh until Joshua slides his leg in between Andrew's.

"Sure, baby," Joshua says. He kisses Andrew one more time and then kneels up so that Andrew can turn over and Joshua can lick him.

Joshua really _likes_ to lick him. He's got a really, really long tongue. It's probably his demon ancestry.

Andrew hugs the pillow to his face as Joshua licks the base of his spine. Which--Spike called him a pillow-biter as a insult before he actually ever _did_ it, but Andrew still doesn't get why being a pillow-biter is a bad thing. It feels great.

Joshua pushes his tongue in and Andrew shivers all over. He rubs his cheek against the pillow and slides his knee along the sheets until Joshua stops him with a hand on his calf. Joshua leans into him, pushing him gently down onto the bed, and Andrew bucks and breathes in when his dick touches the sheets.

Joshua pulls his tongue back out and kisses him. Kisses his ass. It's like everything they do is a swear. Andrew wonders why that is.

Joshua strokes and licks him open until his whole butt is tingly and he wants really _badly_ to be touched all over. "Ready?" Joshua asks, and Andrew nods.

He turns over and Joshua kisses his stomach, his nipple, his throat. "You're so beautiful," Joshua says, and kisses his mouth.

Andrew brings his knees up, trying to wrap himself around Joshua. He rubs his dick against Joshua's belly and Joshua gasps when Andrew brushes his swollen pouch-slit. "Oh, man, I'm almost in season," Joshua groans, and he takes Andrew's knees and slides his dick in.

It's not enough. "Harder," Andrew whispers.

"Mm, sweetheart." Joshua kisses his chin, pushes his knees back and fucks him.

Fucks him so hard it almost hurts, but it's still not _enough_. "Harder, harder," he groans, pushing his shoulders into the bed and his hips into Joshua.

"I am. I'm--mm, baby, baby..." Joshua settles into a rolling rhythm that just isn't _enough_.

Andrew growls and flips them both over; he plants his good hand in Joshua's chest and fucks himself as hard as he needs. "Andrew--" Joshua gasps.

Too much force. He's only human. Andrew takes his hand off Joshua's chest and balances on his knees. Joshua bites his lip and pets Andrew's thigh.

This is better. He can pump himself on Joshua's dick with his own strength and his own speed, but it's still--

Joshua crooks one knee up and Andrew leans back and then, then it's almost like the first time. With Mr. Giles. Only then he had his hands behind him and Mr. Giles was holding him, showing him what to do.

"Baby? Are you okay?" Joshua asks.

Andrew rests his hands behind him, on Joshua's knee and pain shoots up his arm.

And Joshua shoots into him and he comes onto Joshua's belly. Joshua grins and holds open his arms as Andrew curls down on top of him. "I love you," Joshua says softly.

Andrew doesn't answer. He closes his eyes.

Joshua kisses him.

* * *

  
Andrew sits on the bed toweling his hair as Joshua pulls his jeans on, wincing as he zips it over his pouch. "Can I borrow a shirt?" Joshua asks.

"Sure."

"You need more black shirts," Joshua says, looking through Andrew's drawer. "You look hot in black."

"I do?"

"Smoking hot." He pulls out a dark blue t-shirt with the Dingoes Ate My Baby logo on it. "We should go shopping."

"We can go with my grandsire," Andrew says, and the towel tears in his hands.

"Do you want me to stay? You're all--_grr_ today."

"There isn't anything you can do," Andrew says.

Joshua sits on his lap, knees on either side of his hips, and kisses him. "I can give you a blow job every hour."

Andrew shakes his head.

"I would do it if it made you feel better," Joshua says, stroking his jaw. "I'd even get under that little desk and do it while you're working. I love you."

"You too," Andrew says. He rests his head on Joshua's shoulder.

He just feels so _weird_. Is it love making him feel like his stomach is hollowed out and his heart is full of acid? He doesn't know.

He and Joshua go upstairs hand in hand, where Mr. Giles and Mr. Wyndam-Pryce are having tea and muffins and looking over some papers. The regular curtains are drawn, not the blackout curtains, but it's enough that Andrew's skin isn't bubbling. "Good morning," Mr. Giles says. "Joshua, there's more if you want some."

"When and where are we supposed to be attacked?" Andrew asks.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce looks up. "Nighttime, in a cemetery. Cordelia said she saw a portal form and a demon leap out and attack the two of you."

"The plan is to use you as bait. You boys take a stroll and we'll watch and kill the demon," Mr. Giles says.

"Cordelia generally is sent visions only of the most dire attacks. We must be on our guard--there may be more to this than appears on the surface." Mr. Wyndam-Pryce sips his tea meaningfully.

"Are you okay with that?" Andrew asks Joshua.

"Yeah."

"Then I'll see you later?"

"Yeah." Joshua smiles and kisses him long and deep while the old guys avert their eyes.

He walks Joshua to the door, then comes back to the kitchen and pours himself some blood. "There is another matter," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says. "Wolfram and Hart, Angel's nemeses, raised some sort of creature to destroy him. We are attempting to discover what it is, that we might stop it. Frankly, I could use all the help I could get."

Andrew sets the timer on the microwave for a minute. "Why would I want to do that?" he mutters under his breath.

"What was that?" Mr. Wyndam-Pryce asks.

Andrew looks over his shoulder at Mr. Giles. "I'll help if you want me to," he says.

"Yes. Please."

He'll do it for Mr. Giles. Not for Angel. The timer dings and Andrew sits down with his blood.

* * *

  
The sun is almost down. They moved to the living room around lunchtime.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands. "Well. That's another hundred creatures knocked off the list of several million it could be. Brilliant. I'll just go change my bandages and cry."

Mr. Giles's mouth twitches. He gives Andrew a look as Mr. Wyndam-Pryce limps up the stairs.

"He seems different," Andrew says. "He smiles. It's kind of freaking me out."

"It's entirely possible he removed the Watcher flagpole from his arse," Mr. Giles says, and Andrew laughs.

Andrew hears a car pull up and a _lot_ of girlish giggles. "I think they're back."

"Dear God, I'd forgotten. They haven't been shopping all this time, have they?" Mr. Giles twitches back the curtain and looks.

"Entirely possible, Mr. Giles," Andrew says, thinking of long winter afternoons spent at the mall with Dawn.

Buffy opens the door and the girls escort Angel through. He's shielded with gloves and an umbrella to keep out the sun, but he still looks pink around the cheeks and nose. "Best shopping trip ever," Buffy says happily.

"Andrew! I got you something," Dawn says. She gives him a little box as the others pile up shopping bags in the living room and Angel staggers to the easy chair.

Inside is a necklace strung with colored-chrome pride rings. Andrew looks up at Dawn and she's grinning from ear to ear. "I said to the clerk that I was getting them for my best friend, because, like, I'm proud of you! And proud to be your friend." She throws her arms around his neck.

"Thank you, Dawn," Andrew says, and he tears up as he presses his face to her hair. It's like a movie, like if there were a Lifetime network for gay people and he was the boy who'd been oppressed and repressed and everything his whole life and this was his big emotional scene with the girl who was his best friend.

"Wait. I thought I was your best friend?" Buffy says, tapping her foot.

"You're my sister! That's a whole different thing." Dawn sits sideways on Andrew's lap and reaches behind his head to fasten the necklace. Andrew scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand and tries to be manly.

Willow and Tara and Anya are grabbing sodas in the kitchen. Angel is sprawled in Mr. Giles's favorite armchair with his head tipped back and his arms dangling, looking very much like the corpse he is. "Look at these shirts!" Cordelia exclaims, snatching clothes out of bags and waving them at Mr. Giles. "That boy can wear _anything_. He's like a big Ken doll!"

Angel's head comes up but he looks too wiped to care. "They're  
certainly shirts," Mr. Giles agrees.

"My Ken dolls didn't look like Angel. They smiled," Dawn says.

"Also, blond," Buffy agrees. "Ooh! Hi, Riley!" She bounces across the  
room and kisses him at the door.

"I heard there was some demon-fighting afoot," Riley says.

"Oh but honey, you're barely afoot." They sit on the stairs and Buffy fusses over Riley's black eye. Joshua slips in after him and makes a beeline for Andrew.

"Hey," Joshua says. He leans around Dawn and kisses Andrew behind her head; she giggles. "Are you trading up?"

"Me and Dawn are getting married in Vegas when she turns fourteen," Andrew says.

The room goes silent. "What?" Buffy pops up on the stairs.

"Um, hi? Joke?" Dawn says.

"Not on the Hellmouth it's not! First it's jokes and good times and then it's magic and lips of Spike!"

Angel twitches. "What?"

Buffy sits back down. "Nothing."

"Is there something I should know about?" Riley asks.

"No!"

"Excuse me," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says as he edges past Buffy and Riley. "It's getting dark, so we should think about a plan for tonight. Rupert, you and Buffy know the town better than I..."

Mr. Giles looks amazed. He takes off his glasses and rubs them with his handkerchief. "Yes, well. Cordelia, did you happen to recognize which cemetery you saw in your vision?"

"I think it was the big one. You know, near the Bronze, the one all the vampires like so much? There was a tree, a big one? And a headstone with the name of some English writer on it. Dickens or something, one of those. A portal formed and a big ugly demon jumped out and grabbed Andrew's boyfriend, and that's it, that's all I saw."

"Visions. Why don't we get helpful mystic visions?" Willow asks Tara.

Cordelia looks at her. "Because Sunnydale is the size of the average movie star's front lawn?"

"Oh. Good point," Willow says.

"Dinner first. Then slaying. I'm thinking Taco Hut," Buffy says. "Where's Xander? We need all the non-gimpy people we can get."

"Burritos! And he just got off work. He's on his way," Willow says.

"I'm not gimpy," Riley says.

"You have the Grand Canyon in your pectoral muscle--stop being macho!" Buffy says.

Andrew looks up at Dawn, still comfortably seated on his lap. "I'm hungry," he says. He switches to demon-face and she laughs, then he stands up with her in his arms and she shrieks. He sits her on his shoulder so she's eight feet tall and heads into the kitchen.

Dawn's so light. He could carry two of her. "Wow," she giggles, "Giles has serious dusting issues. You have, like, dust _Great Danes_ up there."

Andrew frowns. "I'll sweep later." He takes two glasses down from the cupboard and pours the last of the blood. He'll have to go shopping later, too.

He nukes the glasses for a minute and a half. "How much can you lift?" Dawn asks. "Could you lift a car?"

"I could move it around some, I think. I've never tried."

"You can't eat a burrito," Andrew overhears Buffy saying, "you'll ruin my image of you. Have scones."

"Beef. Burrito," Mr. Giles says firmly.

The microwave dings. He's like Pavlov's dog, now: bell means dinner. He bends at the knee to take the glasses out, carefully balancing Dawn on his shoulder as he walks back into the living room.

"Here," he says to Angel, offering one of the glasses.

Angel opens his eyes and stares at him like he's an alien for a second, like he doesn't even know what Andrew is. Then he focuses on the glass and says "Thanks."

Andrew sits back down and Dawn slides off his shoulder onto the floor. "I want nachos," she tells Buffy.

"You're getting a taco."

"But I want nachos!"

"But you're getting a taco!"

Andrew can be forgiving, like Mr. Giles.

He feels Angel's eyes on him as they both drink their dinner.

* * *

  
"How long do you think we have to wait?" Joshua asks.

It didn't take very long to find the tree and the Hawthorne family stone. "Beats me," Andrew says as the air bends beside them and a ball of light coalesces into a demon.

Andrew yanks his stake from his belt and hisses. Joshua stares at the demon.

"Uncle?" he says.

"Joshualishkins!" the demon cries, and he rushes forward and grabs Joshua off his feet in a hug.

"Oh," Andrew says to himself. He wouldn't have _figured_\--but the resemblance is there, mostly in the glowing orange eyes. Joshua isn't seven feet tall with huge Fyarl-like horns and claws, though.

Xander pops out from behind a crypt and fires off a bolt. "No!" Andrew shouts, but it's too late--Xander has excellent aim. The bolt hits the demon right in the shoulder blade.

The demon shouts and drops Joshua. "It's his uncle!" Andrew says, waving his arms frantically.

"Oh, _crap_!" Xander and Buffy and Angel come out of hiding and run over. "I'm so sorry!" Xander says.

"Piliethao ma ritha!" Joshua says to the demon; the demon answers in the same language. "He says no harm done," Joshua tells Xander as the demon reaches behind him and pulls the bolt out with a pop.

The demon displays the bolt with a toothy grin. There isn't even any blood. "This is my great-uncle Tuaro. We're not all human hybrids," Joshua says, "But I don't have the slightest idea what he's doing here..."

"Back to Giles's place. I guess this is the toy surprise. It's nice to meet you!" Buffy says to Uncle Tuaro, and Joshua translates for her.

"He says likewise, Slayer, and he's here to ask for your help."

* * *

  
Joshua and Uncle Tuaro are still wrapped in conversation.  Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is listening intently. "Do you understand them?" Mr. Giles asks quietly.

"Oh yes... It's a dialect of Fyavar, related to Fyarl. I would very much like to know what Lothliger demons look like in their original state; they seem to be quite... malleable."

Uncle Tuaro has brick-red skin, not golden, and his claws don't fit through the handle of Mr. Giles's teacups, but Andrew recognizes Joshua's grace in the way he holds his cup in the palm of his hand.

"So what are they saying?" Buffy asks impatiently.

"Well." Mr. Wyndam-Pryce clears his throat. "They're discussing--children."

"Joshua's almost in season. His family is really pressuring him to get pregnant this time," Andrew says. "He's trying to hold off until after school."

Buffy stares at him. "You could get your boyfriend pregnant?"

"No. The girl demon has to put her fertilized eggs in the boy demon's baby pouch. It keeps them from getting pregnant accidentally," Andrew explains.

"Okay," Buffy says, "so how--? Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Niman," Joshua says, slashing his hands out flat. "Niman. Niman! Got it? Paliathlu a thimalika sir Slayer?"

"He's getting to the point," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce translates.

Joshua and his uncle have another long conversation. "I'm sorry, I can't quite--I think they're using a number of proper names," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says. "I can't follow."

Joshua finally looks over. "So, here's the deal," he says, letting his breath out. "My grandfather--my mother's father, not Uncle Tuaro's brother--has one of the original Orbs of Passage that our people used to cross dimensions. About a day and a half ago, something went wrong. Uncle thinks it might be a hostile spell from some vampires that tried to move in on our turf."

"Turf?" Angel asks. "Where is your turf?"

"About an hour down the highway toward L.A. It's just a mushroom farm and a gas station, I don't know what anyone would want there. Anyway--something happened to the orb to activate it, I guess. It's expanding. My grandfather and a bunch of my cousins are trapped inside." Joshua's mouth twists a little when he says the last; he bites his lip.

"Nimeska Los Angeles," Uncle Tuaro says.

"It's expanding really fast. If it keep going, it could reach L.A.," Joshua says.

"How much do you know about the orb?" Mr. Giles asks.

Joshua shakes his head. "Nothing, and neither does Uncle. It's blue and shiny and about the size of a pool ball. Grandfather has an instruction manual at his house, though."

Mr. Giles looks at Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. "We need to get there as quickly as possible. Can your uncle create a portal for us?"

Joshua asks. "Ziesa!" says Uncle Tuaro, displaying two carved bones.

"Uncle says he can transport two people or things back. He says a car counts as one thing, the spirit of the bone isn't picky."

Buffy nods. "Angel, your car and Riley's van. We need everyone with mojo. Willow, Tara, Giles, Wesley, Josh and his uncle, I guess Cordelia--will everyone fit?"

"Sure."

Buffy, Willow, Tara, Joshua, Uncle Tuaro, Andrew and all the useful magical stuff they could fit pile into Riley's van. Angel, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, Cordelia, Mr. Giles and the shopping go in Angel's car--Cordelia insists that leaving the shopping behind is bad luck. It implies fatalism.

Uncle Tuaro chants a little and the bone dissolves into light and blanks out the world around them. The world re-forms in a different place.

"That's_ really_ cool," Willow gushes. Uncle Tuaro grins back at her with alarmingly large teeth.

They all pile out of the cars. The problem is obvious: a thin blue haze hanging in the air, creeping steadily outwards. A number of orange-eyed demon people are hovering around the outskirts with large books. "Tuaro!" one woman yells. "Palithi e kira!"

"She said that's the book," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says, and hurries over.

"Oh God, do you know how to read this?" the woman asks. "Tuaro, e thira? Joshualishkins!" She jumps up and hugs Joshua.

"Saralishkins," Joshua sighs, "guys, this is my sister Sarah."

"Mom's inside." Sarah kisses the top of Joshua's head and stares into the haze.

"I'm the Slayer. This is my posse. We'll sort it out," Buffy says.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce leafs through the book. "It _is_ an instructional manual," he says, "Rupert, look. Do you know how to ready a Fyavar ritual of closing?"

"Yes, if you know the words."

"I do. It takes three--Willow, Tara, will you lend me your strength?"

"We will," Tara says, and they step forward and each take one of his hands.

"Andrew." Mr. Giles beckons and he and Andrew move to the chest of supplies. "We need oil and sacred smoke. Light the sage."

Andrew nods; he takes the bundles of sage and the matches. Buffy appears at his elbow with Angel beside her and he lights a bundle for each of them. "Walk in circles widdershins--counter-clockwise," Mr. Giles says. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is already chanting as the blue haze creeps toward them.

Buffy, Angel and Andrew circle Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, Willow and Tara as Mr. Giles anoints their foreheads with the oil. Andrew feels a wind blow up hard and the earth shake a little under their feet.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce shouts the last word and the blue haze stops, then retreats quickly, leaving people unconscious but whole in its wake. "It's safe, you can go," Mr. Giles says, and Sarah, Joshua, Buffy and Angel run down the street checking pulses.

"I could feel it unraveling," Willow says.

Tara looks down the street. "There's evil at work here--do you feel it?"

Willow nods. "Definitely."

They follow the others to the house that seems to be the core of the problem. Inside, Sarah and Joshua are leaning over an old man who shares their golden skin and orange eyes, though his hair is white. "My goodness," he says, "my goodness, wasn't that something."

"I should have listened to Tuaro earlier. Thank you, Slayer, thank all of you," Sarah says.

Tara holds her hand out. "There was evil here," she says. "We banished it, but it will return."

"The vampires from L.A. They came down here, they tried to push us around--I guess they thought since we're demons, we're easy targets. But how did they do _this_?" Sarah asks.

"How long have you lived in this spot? How old are these houses?" Mr. Wyndam-Pryce asks.

"About a hundred and fifty years, ever since we came to this dimension."

"When I was in London," Mr. Giles says, "I saw a warlock cast a spell of release on a house he wanted to empty, on the theory that any house older than a hundred years has some sort of dreadful memory attached to it. It worked; he awoke a ghost that chased the family out. It's entirely possible that the vampires cast such a spell on your homes and released the orb unintentionally."

"Bastards," Sarah mutters.

"My girl! Wash out your mouth," her grandfather says.

"We'll take it from here," Angel says.

Buffy stares at him. Angel stares back. "It's my city," he says, "my problem. And I think I can handle some vampires."

Buffy crosses her arms and sets her shoulders. "Yeah, and--and if I hadn't just saved the world the other day, I might fight you on that, but right now, I want to sleep for a week. So--I'll see you. Later." She turns and heads out of the house.

Mr. Giles takes a card from his wallet and gives it to Sarah. "If you need any further assistance, feel free to call us. We have no quarrel with those who choose to live peacefully among us."

"Sarah," Joshua says, taking Andrew's hand, "this is my boyfriend. I told you about him."

"Oh! The vampire. But a good vampire, not the kind that kicks people out of their own homes."

"Right," Andrew says.

"You need to come up some time when it's not crazy. And we, we need to talk about children, little brother," she says to Joshua.

"We will. Soon!" Joshua pulls Andrew out of the house with a hand on his belly.

"You're not--"

"It makes my pouch hurt just thinking about it," Joshua says. "No way. Niman."

"Joshualishkins!" Uncle Tuaro catches up and swings Joshua into a bear hug. "Himalina, lishkins."

"Himalina!" Joshua squeezes him back.

The others--minus Angel, Cordelia and Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, who are staying--are waiting in Riley's van. "I guess we get back the old-fashioned way," Buffy says.

"Unless you can contrive to do a very great favor for a sylvan entity in the next few minutes, yes," Mr. Giles says. He's behind the wheel.

"So that's how you do that poof thing?" Willow asks.

Andrew pulls the side door shut. "I like your hometown," he tells Joshua, and Joshua kisses him.

* * *

  
"There was the other time where Uncle Tuaro fought the Beast of Las Vegas," Joshua says.

"Good Lord. That was him?" Mr. Giles says.

"Yeah. Do you think it's living so close to the Hellmouth that makes this stuff happen, or do we live so close to the Hellmouth because we can deal with the stuff that comes up?" Joshua asks.

"Well, both, I think," Willow says. "You could always move away."

"Destiny," Andrew says, looking out the window.

"Power attracts power," Tara says. "It's a cycle."

This is the first time Andrew has left Sunnydale since he was turned. It's hard to do things as a vampire--travel is just one of the drawbacks, and there's hardly any upsides: just strength and senses and the good feelings he gets from blood.

Being a vampire _sucks_.

"How many more apocalypses before next semester, do you think?" Willow asks Buffy.

"Think happy thoughts."

At least he has Joshua, who makes him feel better. Andrew rests his head on Joshua's shoulder.

"I wonder if I can change my major to magic," Joshua says, "because that totally rocked."  



	5. Chapter 5

Five:

"You'll never hit as hard as Buffy does, so please, don't be tentative," Mr. Giles says.

"I'm just not--" Joshua shakes his head and punches the pad Mr. Giles holds. "Not all that butch," Joshua mutters.

"It's not butch to hit people. Is it? I mean, not _necessarily_." Buffy looks at Andrew wide-eyed.

"No, Slayer, I don't think so."

"I'm not co-opting your vocabulary, am I? Because I don't want to be insensitive. If we're not sensitive and open and sharing then evil just walks right in and steals our silverware!" Buffy says.

Mr. Giles and Joshua looks over. "What _are_ you talking about?" Mr. Giles says.

"Nothing!" Buffy says.

"Vampires stole your silverware?" Joshua says.

"Metaphorical silverware. Never mind! Are you ready to practice?" Buffy asks Andrew.

Andrew nods.

"Great!" She bounces into the middle of the room. Andrew considers, for a moment, and then takes a supernatural leap onto the top of the chained heavy bag. It's safe; this is how he and Mr. Giles tested the equipment when they installed it.

He shifts into his demon face and glares down at Buffy. "Oh, so we're playing the _tricky_ game," she says.

She raises her hand and her body says she's going to try to pull him down by the ankle, so he shifts and raises his own hand as a claw. He doesn't like to punch--he doesn't want to break any more fingers--but he keeps his nails longish for a guy so he can scratch like crazy.

Buffy changes tactics and grabs a staff from the wall. Andrew leaps down and picks up a chair from the worktable; there are swords, but that's too easy. Buffy raises an eyebrow: "Did Sun Tzu say anything about chairs?"

She feints at his head with the end of the staff and Andrew blocks it with the leg and shoves the back at her stomach in the same movement, using the body of the chair to shove the staff away from him. Buffy lets go of the staff, grabs the chair with one hand and snatches at his hair with the other. "Ow!" Andrew yelps. "That's not how Slayers fight!"

"Excellent move. Entirely unexpected," Mr. Giles says.

Andrew growls and twists out of Buffy's hands, leaving her holding the chair. He dances around her, trying for a kick to her kidneys, but she's too fast for him. She throws a couple of punches and he bends backwards to duck them and snaps forward to tackle her to the ground.

But Buffy is the Slayer, so Andrew ends up with a Nerf stake in his chest. "Achoo," Buffy says.

"Darn it. I thought I was getting better." Andrew pushes himself up and gives Buffy a hand.

"You are," Mr. Giles says, "but Buffy is the Slayer."

"Do you want to go again?" Buffy asks.

"Sure."

* * *

  
Joshua is still there, studying, when Andrew comes back from patrol. Buffy actually asked him on patrol. She's been asking him all _summer_. It's been great.

It's probably just because Riley still isn't up to par.

Andrew spins the desk chair around and straddles Joshua's lap. "You'll never guess who we saw on patrol," he says.

"Who?"

"Guess!"

"But you said I can't guess," Joshua says. The corners of his mouth curl up.

"Dracula."

"No way!"

"He was all tall and pale and European with long hair and really great cheekbones," Andrew says.

"He's Dracula and he's sexy? Are you leaving me for the king of vampires?" Joshua says, running his fingers under Andrew's shirt.

"No! He's too Goth. It's a cliché." Andrew leans in and kisses him hard.

"Well, okay," Joshua says. He kicks the floor and spins them as he slips his tongue into Andrew's mouth.

Andrew slides down, kisses Joshua's chin and throat, and Joshua jerks his head away. "Don't," he says.

"Don't kiss you?"

"Don't kiss me _there_. You know why," Joshua says. He takes Andrew's shoulders and pushes him away.

Andrew feels himself flare up, feels the anger in his stomach like he's been eating hot coals. "You don't trust me. How can you say you love me when you don't trust me at all?"

"I don't_ trust_ you because you've been chewing on me all summer! Just say it, Andrew! Say you want to bite me! Say you want my blood!"

Andrew takes a deep breath of air that feels like fire in his lungs. "I want to bite you," he says, tasting Joshua's skin on his tongue, smelling Joshua's blood on the air between them, "I want your blood. It's demon blood, it's not--"

"You can't have it," Joshua says. He shakes his head and all Andrew can see or touch or smell is him.

"But I'm a _vampire_," Andrew says. "And I did this for you! When you were in season I licked your pouch all night."

Joshua still shakes his head, slowly, almost hypnotically. "This is different," he says, "it's so totally different, you have to see that."

"There was _mucus_. It was gross."

"Oh, fuck you!" Joshua shouts.

Andrew shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just--" He leans in to kiss Joshua's cheek and Joshua flinches away hard; he punches Andrew in the shoulder with one of the moves Mr. Giles taught him.

Andrew grabs his wrist and Joshua claws at his face with his other hand; Andrew grabs that too before he connects. "Let me go," Joshua says breathlessly.

"You're hitting me!"

"You're scaring me."

He is. He can smell the fear rising from Joshua's body like tinfoil and skunk. "Don't be stupid. It's me!"

"Acting like a huge _freak_," Joshua says as his smell intensifies.

He starts smelling really _good_. Andrew stands up, pulling Joshua with him, so he can lean in and sniff at Joshua's body. Sweat and skunk and all those wonderful warm smells, they're so--yummy. "Shit," Joshua whispers, "Andrew, just let go, take your hands away."

"But then you'd _go_." He pulls Joshua in closer and inhales at the crook of his neck.

"HELP!" Joshua shouts before Andrew can clap his hand over his mouth, and with his free hand Joshua claws at his cheek and eye and ear and tangles his fingers in Andrew's hair and pulls as hard as he can.

"Stop it!" Andrew snaps. He tosses Joshua down on the bed so he can pin him against the mattress. "God, that hurts!"

Joshua bucks underneath him with all the strength he has but Andrew rides it out. "You're acting like a total dick!" Andrew says. He shoves Joshua into the bed until he goes limp, and _then_ he lets go.

"Fine, do it," Joshua whispers, "just do it, and that's it."

"Just what?"

"Bite me." Joshua's eyes are opened all the way; he's breathing hard and fast.

Andrew bites into his neck before he changes his mind.

It's easier than he thought. His teeth slice in like a knife into butter. Joshua makes a small, pained noise and goes rigid under his hands.

After that, it's just hanging on while the blood flows into his mouth. It's kind of like when Joshua taught him to give a blow job. It's more like when Mr. Giles split him open and showed him what he _is_.

Because he's a vampire, and he drinks blood. It's like a revelation, like--_duh_: this is what you are.

His head hurts--Joshua's free hand is knotted in his hair so tight that he's ripping strands out by the root. Their legs are tangled up and he's digging his nails into Joshua's skin and Joshua's blood tastes like Christmas, a really good Christmas with big presents and lots of cookies.

* * *

  
Andrew wakes up feeling fantastic, all fizzy and happy and light. He bounces out of bed wondering why he feels so good when he had such _weird_ dreams last night.

He goes to the computer to check his email and sees his hands.

He looks back at the bed. Blood. His hands. Blood. His mouth, his hair, his face--it's Joshua's blood.

Joshua isn't there.

Andrew rips the sheets off the bed--there's blood on the mattress, but he can flip that, and wash the clothes, and wash himself, and--where _is_ Joshua? He pulls his clothes off and scrubs the blood from his face with his t-shirt.

The Slayer is going to kill him. As soon as she finds out.

She must not know, or they would have dragged him out of his bed. There's no way she would leave him in the same house with Mr. Giles.

Andrew grabs his bathrobe and towel and creeps upstairs. He can smell Joshua, smell his blood in the air still.

He can't hear Mr. Giles in the house. Maybe he's safe.

He runs up to the bathroom and washes his hair twice, scrubs his face until it hurts, scrubs out his nails. He doesn't get out of the shower until he can't smell the blood any more.

He wishes he could see himself in the mirror. But if he could, he wouldn't be having all these problems.

He's walking down the stairs as Mr. Giles returns. Mr. Giles looks up and nods. "Good morning, Andrew."

Andrew clutches the banister so hard his nails dig into his palm. "Good morning."

"I heard last night was interesting." Mr. Giles sits at the worktable and pulls books from a paper bag.

"Interesting? No!"

"Dracula isn't interesting?" Mr. Giles asks, smiling a little.

Oh. Oh. Andrew clutches his towel to his chest. "He was pretentious and creepy. The Slayer will defeat him."

"Yes, I'm sure she will. We're all researching the man--I've been elected to reread Stoker." Mr. Giles looks at one of the books with clear disgust. "Lurid trash, but it might hold some clues. There's ample work to be done if you're not busy."

Andrew shakes his head. "I'm not busy. Uh--did you see Joshua leave this morning?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Is something wrong?"

He left. He just left. He didn't tell anyone. Andrew presses his towel to his mouth and shakes his head. "No, I just--no. I'll get dressed."

He's not going to die. He almost laughs as he hurries back to the basement--but then he closes the door and Joshua's smell is all around him and he collapses down onto the top step and cries, because he fucked this up _so much_ and Joshua is never ever going to forgive him.

Joshua's blood circulates under his skin, petting him from the inside, telling him things are going to be all right when they're really not.

* * *

  
Bed.

Bed good. Bed still smells a little like Joshua, even after he's washed the sheets and flipped the mattress.

"Oi. Wake up."

Andrew cracks his eyes, then screws them closed. "Go away."

"It's ten o'clock at night! Are you going to sleep forever?" Spike says.

Bed is good. He wants to sleep a lot. "What are you doing in my room?"

"Looking for you. Need a little mumbo-jumbo."

Andrew sits up and glares at Spike. "I can't do magic. Get Willow."

"_Willow_. This is vampire business," Spike says. "_Family_ business. Besides, she'd tell me to get lost."

"Get lost."

"Not so fast, pup. Better listen. I want to off Dracula."

Andrew rolls his eyes. "Buffy already staked him."

"Sure. Everyone's staked him. _I_ staked him once. Flash bastard, he's got his tricks," Spike says, shaking his head. "We need to trap him, see, break up his whaddyercallit--thing that keeps his dust together."

Andrew blinks. "I don't think there's a word for that," he says.

"No?" Spike looked puzzled. "You sure? Seems like there should be."

"No. And--why should I do this with _you_? You're just trying to get on Buffy's good side and make her forget what a treacherous, sneaky, cowardly evil thing you are."

"I am not cowardly!" Spike shouts. He grabs the neck of Andrew's shirt and his mouth works for a second--then his nostrils flare and he looks around. "My. My, my. Someone's been a bad dog."

"I'm not a dog."

"Someone's been _naughty_... and I bet someone doesn't want the Slayer to know. Where's that little boyfriend of yours, hm, pup?"

Their eyes meet. Andrew can't speak, because he's right, he's _right_, he's so so right--"I didn't do anything!" Andrew blurts out. "I didn't do anything wrong. I'll help because we have to stop Dracula, and that's--"

"Brilliant!" Spike leaps up from the bed. "Teach _him_ to ignore his nemeses. What do you need--grave dirt, newt's breath?"

"All I can do is blood magic. For that, I just need blood." Andrew slides out of bed and looks for his pants.

Spike wanders around, looking at Andrew's bookshelves while Andrew gets dressed. Fortunately, he doesn't touch the Star Wars figures, or Andrew would have to stake him. He watches the screen-saver on Andrew's computer for a few minutes before looking back at him. "Blood magic--isn't that _black_ magic? Form of chaos and all that?"

Andrew yanks at the laces of his army boots. "Depends on how you use it. Using it to kill a vampire makes it white magic."

"Nooo... I seem to remember Rupert having quite a go at little Red on this subject. Seems she was inclined to dabble in forces beyond her ken."

Andrew ties a careful knot and pulls the cuff of his jeans over the top. "Mr. Giles and I tested what I can and can't do when I first became a vampire. We tried spell magic, natural magic, and blood magic, and blood magic is what I could do. It's not evil."

Spike stands and smirks at him.

"I'm not evil," Andrew says.

"Right. White magic and spotless souls all around, except--oh! No souls in either of us and no _chip_ in you, and your boy found that out the hard way what that means, now didn't he?"

"I didn't do anything wrong," Andrew says, way too quiet.

Spike smirks harder. Andrew grabs his grimoire and backpack and goes upstairs.

* * *

  
In the end it's simple, though it takes forever to set up: Andrew makes a double circle of his blood while Spike chases Dracula around his big fancy castle. Finally, Spike tosses Dracula into Andrew's arms, and Andrew holds Dracula in the circle while Spike stakes him with the leg of a chair.

Andrew flicks blood over the ashes. "I bind you," he says.

Now Dracula is trapped in dust form and can't waft out of the circle. Andrew isn't sure if he has consciousness or not. It doesn't really matter, because Spike has fired up the Dustbuster and is sucking up the Dark Prince.

"Let's see how you like modern plumbing," Spike chortles.

"Uh, that might not be a great idea. Think about all the stuff in Sunnydale sewers," Andrew says.

Spike glances at him. "Oh. Well. What, then?"

* * *

  
"Stand back," Andrew says.

"I'm already back," Spike says from the living room. "You ever got splashed in the face with that stuff, you'd be over here as well. Why can't your tweedy master do this?"

"Mr. Giles is still asleep and we should hurry." Andrew's heart is racing and he's actually breathing, he's so nervous. But he has gloves, he's got his apron, he's got Dracula's ashes decanted into a Mason jar: all he has to do is lift the jug of holy water and pour.

He breathes. He lifts. He pours. He doesn't splash himself. "Done!" he calls to Spike as he screws the lid onto the Mason jar. He tears off a piece of masking tape and labels the jar "DRACULA" with a Sharpie.

Spike creeps back into the kitchen. "Looks like pond water. Going to put him on your mantel?"

"Mr. Giles knows some witches in England. They've been guarding unholy things for something like 800 years, so I bet they can keep Dracula bottled up too."

"Really?" Spike sucks in his cheeks and looks thoughtful. "Powerful, unholy things? All in one place? Guarded by women?"

Andrew glares at him. Spike widens his eyes unconvincingly.

"'M starved," Spike says, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and looking in the fridge. "Slaying takes it out of you."

"If you light that in here you'll regret it," Andrew says, capping the holy water jug and shaking it meaningfully. _He_ still has his gloves and apron on. _Spike_ just has his coat.

Come to think of it, it would be really _funny_ to soak the lining of Spike's coat in holy water. Let it dry and put it back in his crypt so it burns him when he puts it on in the morning--Andrew would laugh and laugh and laugh.

Spike's eyes are riveted to the holy water jug until Andrew puts it back under the sink. He puts the cigarettes away without comment.

"Heat me up some blood too," Andrew says.

Giles is moving around upstairs; it must be early. Andrew checks his watch as Spike carefully pours blood into two glasses. "Sun's up," he says.

"What? Can't be." Spike tosses the empty carton down on the counter and twitches the blackout blinds away from the window. He yelps and jumps back, sticking his fingers in his mouth. "Bloody _hell_!"

Andrew throws away the empty container and puts the glasses of blood in the microwave. "I guess you're sleeping in the tub today. Stupid."

"Like hell I am!"

"The couch gets direct sun," Andrew says, watching the glasses orbit each other on the microwave turntable. It's like meditation.

"_I'm_ the senior vampire here. _I_ get your bed."

"That whole sire-spawn thing didn't work _last_ time," Andrew says, "I don't know why you keep trying it."

Spike grabs his arm and spins him around, slamming him hard into the countertop. "It's because like it or not, you're a member of the Order of Aurelius, and that _means_ something. It means you're part of a long line of master vampires that burn, kill and attempt to end the world on an epic bloody scale, you got it? I may have come down in the world, but that doesn't mean I'm about to let some whippersnapper disrespect the ancient customs." He leans painfully into Andrew's body, hand clamped to Andrew's chin so he can't even whimper. "Not when they work in _my_ direction for once," Spike says, and he lets Andrew go.

"You're still sleeping in the tub," Andrew chokes out, and Spike takes a swing that Andrew ducks. Spike is chasing him into the living room when they hear feet on the stairs and a key in the lock.

They both run back into the kitchen and Spike grabs Dracula's ashes. "Anyone home?" Buffy calls out. "Hey, Giles!"

"Sorry, I'm running a bit late," Mr. Giles says. "Let me pack us some breakfast and a thermos of tea and we'll be off."

Andrew pats down his shirt and jeans and glares at Spike, who's practicing his big Bambi eyes.

"Ooh, breakfast! Do you have English muffins? Because I--" Buffy stops as she sees Andrew and Spike in the kitchen. Mr. Giles follows her in.

"What are you two up to? Together? In a not-fighting way?" Buffy says.

Spike holds up the jar of ashes and water. "I slayed your baddie, old Drac. _You_ didn't know how to keep him dead, but look, I've got him in this jar. What do you say to that?"

Buffy looks at him. She looks at Andrew.

"It really is Dracula. I used a spell on him to keep him contained and then we vacuumed up his ashes and put them in holy water," Andrew says, pointing to the jar. "I don't know if he's dead or not."

Mr. Giles and Buffy both regard the Mason jar. "You performed a spell?" Mr. Giles asks.

"Blood containment."

"Ah." Mr. Giles doesn't seem mad, so Andrew must have done that right. Andrew smiles.

"Strawberry jam, pickles, and vampire preserves," Buffy says. "Neat."

"We'll have to keep it in a safe place... the Furies up in Los Angeles should be able to help, I think. Thank you," Mr. Giles says to Andrew. "That was good thinking."

Andrew beams. "Was _my_ idea," Spike says. "My plan."

"Of course," Mr. Giles says, and it's a totally different kind of voice than he used for Andrew. Dismissive. He's not saying _thank you_ to Spike.

It doesn't even bother him when Buffy points out that the sun is up and Mr. Giles invites Spike to stay.

It doesn't even bother him that Spike takes the bed and shoves Andrew onto the floor.

Andrew _proved_ that he's on the right side, that he's competent, that he knows what he's doing. Nothing can kill that glow.

Not even the lingering scent of Joshua's blood.

* * *

  
...and a quarter:

"Maybe I should start keeping blood in the fridge. Where do you get yours, Andrew?" Joyce turns around with a quart of tangerine juice in one hand and milk in the other.

"You don't need to do that, Mrs. Summers. Juice is fine."

"But it seems so inhospitable," she says. "Between you and Spike and Angel when he's in town--it feels so closed-minded just to have human food on hand."

Andrew shakes his head. "We don't mind. Honestly. And blood goes bad really, really fast."

"Oh? I didn't know that." She tilts her head, apparently thinking it over. "Juice, you said?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

Andrew props his chin on his hands and watches her pour him some tangerine juice. He likes it here. It smells like home, all pancakes and mom-perfume. Giles's house smells like old paper and incense and tea. "I saw your mother in town the other day," Mrs. Summers says. "Tucker's gone off to college now--she seems a little lonely. She said she and your father miss you and wonder what happened to you."

Andrew looks down.

"You never went home?"

Andrew shakes his head. "Tucker knows. I think he told them I ran away."

She sets the glass of juice in front of him. "Speaking as a mother of two who had one run away for a very long summer? She'd be very happy to see you again."

"My mom isn't you."

Mrs. Summers pats his shoulder. "She's a mom. We're not that different."

"Yes you are." He's not doing it. He has nothing to say to his mom.

Besides--his real mother now is Drusilla. He's a monster. He proved that with Joshua.

"Hey!" Dawn runs in sucking on her finger. Andrew can smell the slight tang of blood--she must have cut herself. "We'd better get going! Is Buffy coming with?"

"No; apparently seeing the movie once was enough for her," Mrs. Summers says.

Andrew shakes off the moodiness and smiles at Dawn. "Silly Slayer. You can never see Gladiator too many times."

"Russell Crowe," Dawn agrees.

"Are you kids..." Mrs. Summers' voice trails off and she clutches the countertop. "Oh, I feel a little..."

She falls to her knees, smelling suddenly of illness. Andrew jumps out of his chair and Dawn dives across the kitchen, landing on her knees; Andrew touches her throat, checking her pulse, wanting to know what's _wrong_, and Dawn's hand lands on top of his.

Suddenly Andrew can see. He can see Mrs. Summers sickening and dying from a tumor that neither magic nor science can cure. He can see Buffy fighting, struggling, grieving--and dying. He can see Dawn, who's--not real? He can see her dissolving into light.

He can't--that can't be right. That can't happen.

But at the same time, there's another reality, connected through Dawn--_Dawn is the Key_, he hears Buffy saying in a universe far far away, and that means something very important--and in that, Dawn is a real live girl and always has been, Mrs. Summers is well, Buffy doesn't die.

It's _better_. And if he wants it badly enough, he can reach out and make it real.

And he reaches out, and everything shifts, and changes, and settles again.

When he opens his eyes, he has a moment where he doesn't know who or what or where he is--but then he blinks and he knows: he's Andrew. He's a vampire. He's in Sunnydale, where he's lived for his entire life. He's in the kitchen of Joyce Summers kneeling next to Dawn Summers and he's known them since he was fourteen.

Duh.

"Ooh," Mrs. Summers says, "I don't know what happened."

"You fell!" Dawn says.

"Just lie still for a minute," Andrew says. "Do you want an ambulance?"

"Oh, no, no, I'll be fine." She props herself up and rubs her head. "I'm just a little--woozy."

"You should rest," Andrew suggests. There's a smudge of blood on the back of his hand. He licks it off absently and feels warmth tingle over his tongue; it tastes like Dawn.

* * *

  
"No, I absolutely don't think you should quit school. Your mother is fine," Giles says into the phone. He must be talking to Buffy.

He spots Andrew in the door and waves him over. "Give it a few days," he says. "Yes. Yes, the grand opening is next week. All right." He hangs up.

"Buffy's thinking about quitting school?" Andrew says.

"It's not easy, balancing Slayer duties with homework." Giles takes off his glasses. "How are things on the, er, demon front?"

Andrew thinks of Joshua and has to look at the floor. "Mostly quiet. Spike keeps yammering about something big at Willy's, but I can't tell how much is actual talk and how much is, you know. Yammer."

"Yes, Spike. I don't think we need to worry about him. Anything else?"

"There's a bunch of weird gray guys running around buying designer clothing," Andrew says. "I saw a whole pack buying shoes at April Fools." He and Dawn were shopping for leather jackets. She was his mirror. She thinks he looks good in black too.

"Buying? Shoes? With actual money?"

"Yeah, uh--designer heels, the expensive ones, all the same size."

"How odd."

"Yeah." The clerk didn't even blink, but she was in Andrew's class in high school; she's probably used to it.

Giles crosses his arms, tapping the stem of his glasses against his shirt, and looks sideways at Andrew. "And on the boyfriend front?"

Andrew doesn't say anything.

"I haven't seen him around lately."

Joshua is screening his calls and not answering his emails. Andrew went over to his dorm, but there was holy water on the doorknobs and he burned his hand. "We sort of--we broke up."

"I am sorry," Giles says. "I liked him."

"It wasn't working. I didn't--he didn't like the blood," Andrew says. It's not really a lie.

He didn't break the rules--he hasn't taken human blood. Joshua is a demon. He didn't hurt a _human_ person.

Andrew slides his hands into his pockets. "I miss him," he says.

Giles sighs. "Well. I've found that one's love life generally turns out precisely the way it should. Best to accept the loss, grieve, and move on."

Andrew nods. "I'm going to alphabetize my bookshelf. And then maybe bake something."

"Good man." Giles pats his shoulder.

* * *

  
The phone rings twice. Andrew rolls out of bed and picks up his extension. "Rupert Giles residence, this is Andrew."

"Is it, now? Well, I'm calling for the man himself. Is he in?" It's a British guy who sounds kind of familiar. The connection isn't great so Andrew doesn't recognize him.

He hears someone else pick up. "Hello?" Mr. Giles on the extension upstairs.

"It's for you, Mr. Giles," Andrew says, and drops his phone back onto the cradle--only not, because he misses and it slips off onto the desk.

Sometimes it seems like every single thing he does, no matter how little, goes wrong. Andrew sits and closes his eyes for a second before he moves to pick up the phone again.

But then the other guy is talking again. Andrew can hear clear as day--vampire hearing. "It seems I remember Andrew. A sweet creature. Blond. Lithe."

"Ethan," Mr. Giles says, "I wouldn't expect you to use something so banal as a telephone."

"Innocent and evil at once, which is quite intoxicating. Terribly powerful, and young, so very young. What are you doing with him, Ripper?"

Andrew rests his cheek on the desk and stares at the phone. He remembers Ethan Rayne. He remembers his glittery black eyes and the things he showed Andrew.

How can someone be innocent and evil at the same time? That doesn't make any sense.

"I'm teaching him and protecting him," Mr. Giles says to Rayne. "What do you want?"

"Merely to chat?"

"We've never _chatted_."

"Well--isn't it time we started?"

"No," Mr. Giles growls. He sounds really _mad_. Andrew's hardly ever heard him get mad.

"And yet you're not hanging up--oh, don't hang up on me _now_, Ripper. You haven't interrogated me yet."

"Are you in Sunnydale?"

"No. Far from it, in fact, as you would know if you put your mind to it."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

"We'll never be parted," Rayne purrs, "we'll always be connected."

"Oh, _stop_ it with that pretentious _crap_," Mr. Giles snaps, "I'm tired of it!"

"Crap?" Rayne says. Then it sounds like he's giggling. "Crap! What would your maiden aunt say to hear you so American?"

Mr. Giles sighs and Rayne laughs and laughs.

"Ethan," Mr. Giles says, not sounding irritated at all.

"I ring you hoping for the sylvan sound of home and you assail me with 'crap'? My dear love, the California youth have your brain."

"Wanker. Prat. Pillock," Mr. Giles says. Rayne sighs--kind of a happy sigh, Andrew thinks, like Willow sighs when Tara brings her tea--and Mr. Giles chuckles a little. "Have a digestive biscuit and some milky Lapsang Souchong and you'll feel yourself again."

"No more abuse?"

"I'm tired of that too."

"Mm. You're pleasant when you're tired."

"Come to town and I'm sure I can work up a good beating," Mr. Giles says with an edge in his voice. "Especially if you interfere with my Slayer or her friends again."

"Oh dear, oh no, I have bigger fish to fry--and doesn't that sound lovely? Proper fish and chips." Rayne sighs again.

"Goodbye, Ethan."

"Goodnight, Ripper."

They both hang up.

Andrew stares at the phone for a long time, missing Joshua _hard_, before hanging it up.

* * *

  
To: Andrew Wells &lt;andrew@demonsdemonsdemons.org&gt;  
From: Joshua K. &lt;j.kariakanit@ucsunnydale.edu&gt;  
Subject: Closure.

No, I'm not telling the Slayer. You need confess yourself.

I know you love me and I still love you but you have some serious unresolved issues about your vampirism that you need to take care of before you can be in a relationship.

When I woke up in bed with you the morning after, you were smiling in your sleep. That was the first time I'd really seen you smiling in a long time, maybe all summer. If the only thing that makes you happy is to hurt me then things are really wrong.

So I'm taking the semester off and leaving Sunnydale. Don't try to visit--I don't want to talk. I'm staying with Uncle Tuaro and he will kill you if he sees you.

Goodbye.

Joshua

* * *

  
Andrew wakes up mid-afternoon. He lies in bed for a moment, wondering how much time he's saved in his unlife by not having to use the bathroom.

Then he gets out of bed and checks his email and the Demons, Demons, Demons forum. He posted a message to the forum asking about the warty, gray demons; Wesley Wyndam-Pryce up in LA has suggested Cratchler entities, and someone he doesn't know suggested Firack demons. He'll look them up.

Joshua's message is still sitting there in his inbox. He's not going to answer it--Joshua is so, so wrong about him, but every time he tries to write a response it turns into either begging or threats--but he can't bring himself to delete it either.

He looks up Cratchler entities in Malegg's Demonology. It's still his favorite reference. Regency English makes even descriptions of mucus sound nice.

"Cratchler entities hie from the lowest swamp and ordure. The rags with which they wrap their loathsome bodies are soaked in the dregs of the noisome mud in which they live," Andrew reads out loud. There's a picture, and that looks almost right, but they didn't smell bad when he and Dawn saw them in April Fool's. They smelled like dust and a little perfume.

But they could wash, right? So maybe.

Malegg doesn't have Firack demons, so Andrew switches to Carysine. "The Arcane World" by Stephan Carysine is one of those books Giles didn't even keep in the library; Andrew swiped it from his bedroom bookshelf a year or so ago. It's written on parchment that may or may not be human skin and it's really a lot of work to read. He's read that humans have to fight to keep their souls from being sucked out through their eyeballs when they read it.

For Andrew, though, the biggest problem is that it's kind of boring.

Demons are in the middle, after the spells to raise and control the dead and before the really long section on choosing psychic real estate. He flips through the pages, watching the words skitter away from his fingers on the corners.

Firack demons. The picture looks like the ones he saw. When Andrew touches it, it turns its head, like a mug shot.

Then it tries to bite him, _not_ like a mug shot. Andrew jerks his fingers away and frowns at the page.

"Firack they fly from lands victorious / summoned here for purposes inglorious / subject to no man or witch's spell / of spirit weak and aspect fell," Andrew reads. It was actually written in 1952, but Carysine was nothing if not pretentious.

And that's it, there's no more--until Andrew touches the page again and the words swim into a new shape: "A nest for their God the Firack create / She, hunter of holy men, Slayer's fate / in the year of three blood moons She will rise / and all Man's dominion will be Her prize."

Oh.

That doesn't sound good.

The words swim away again. Andrew flips back to the beginning, the opening preface on the sorcerer's almanac; "blood moons" refers to Flower and Wood, which Andrew doesn't have downstairs.

Andrew ties the binding straps around Carysine and slips the padlock through the rings on the cover, then runs upstairs.

Mr. Giles is in the living room. Andrew hugs the wall away from the shafts of afternoon sun and pokes his head around the corner. "Mr. Giles?"

Mr. Giles looks up. "Oh, good morning, Andrew."

"Do you have Flower and Wood's almanac thingy?"

Mr. Giles rubs his chin. "Somewhere, I'm sure. It might be at the store. What do you need from it?"

"How to determine a blood moon for the purposes of a sorcerer's year."

"A blood moon is a full moon that coincides with Aethel's thaumic swell. It's rather exciting, actually, we've had three this year, and that hasn't happened for over two thousand years," Mr. Giles says with a little smile and eyebrow quirk. "What are you working on?"

_All Man's dominion will be her prize._

"I'm not sure yet," Andrew says.

He takes some blood from the fridge and goes back down to the basement drinking it cold.

First he wants to know who the guy is who posted that. He could try looking at the IP numbers... and then he could fail, and call Willow. Alternately he could call Willow first.

Andrew picks up the phone and dials.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Buffy. It's Andrew? Is Willow there?"

"Hey! What's up? Is there something I can slay?"

"Uh--no?"

"Are you sure? Because I could totally slay stuff right about now."

"No Slaying yet. Computer stuff."

"Oh." She sounds disappointed. "Willow! Phone!"

There's some thumping, and then Willow says "Hello?"

"It's Andrew. Can you help me trace someone?"

"Sure! Who?"

"On Demons, Demons, Demons. The guy who posted about the Firack demons in response to my question."

Andrew hears tapping. "Still working on the mystery of the demons and the high heels? Maybe they just want to be pretty," Willow says.

"They're not really buying in their size."

"Well, maybe they're used to European sizes. Okay, he's using EarthLink, that's easy..." More tapping.

"Willow! Warn me before you burn incense," Buffy says in the background. "It makes me sneezy."

"Sorry! It's important. It is important, right?" Willow asks Andrew.

"I think so." Maybe--maybe the whole _planet_ is at risk. Wow.

How cool would it be to save the world? Andrew spins back and forth in his chair, biting on his finger.

"Okay! Ben White, 422 Main Street, Apartment B, right here in Sunnydale. So--who is this guy?"

"He might know what the demons are and what they're doing."

"Ooh! Are you going to question him? Do you need backup? We could wear sunglasses and be all menacing."

"Yeah!" Buffy says in the background. "Willow, give." There's another thump and then Buffy says, "Andrew, I should totally go with you if you're questioning some big shot wizard. It could be dangerous! He might turn you into a toad."

"That's not funny!" Willow says in the background.

And--Buffy already saved the world once. This is Andrew's thing. "I think I should do this alone. I mean--you're the Slayer, everyone knows that. I'm a creature of the night so I'm incognito."

"Oh, come on! Save me from the French homework." Buffy sighs. "Okay. Yeah, it's a good plan. Let me know how it goes."

"I will. Bye."

Andrew hangs up.

* * *

  
An hour after sunset he's dressed all in black, crouching on the roof of the apartment building next to Ben White's, with binoculars and a backpack full of magic gear.

He can see right into the apartment through the gauzy curtains. The apartment is _really_ nice--and really really _girly_\--and there are Firack demons all over.

Andrew sees Ben talk to a few. He doesn't look very happy. Then he twitches, falls to one knee--and turns into a girl.

Whoa.

A tall, pretty blond girl in Ben's suddenly badly-fitting clothes. She gets up and takes off Ben's clothes and walks naked into the bedroom closet; she comes out in a little red dress and heels. She talks to the Firack demons, then takes a scrying orb out of a box and looks into it. Andrew really wishes he could see what she's seeing.

She bounces up and down with apparent glee and runs out of the apartment. Andrew jumps down, ready to follow her.

But she's--she's right there, when she shouldn't have been able to see him or to move that fast, and she's looking at him. "A vampire? Ick. I hope you weren't thinking about _biting_ me."

Andrew puts on his demon face and thinks fast. "Gimme your wallet!" he says. "Grr!"

She backhands him across the street. He hits a brick wall head-first and blacks out.

When he wakes up, she's gone and his head hurts like hell--but clearly he's onto something, and he will not be deterred in his quest. He pulls his grimoire from his backpack.

He flips through the pages--_somewhere_ he wrote down the ritual for summoning a tracking imp--and there it is. He's needs a circle of blood and a rope to bind the imp, preferably made of his own hair though any part of the body will do.

Andrew takes off his belt and slashes his left arm open. He traces a circle with the bloodied knife, then soaks the raw leather of the belt with his blood. He whispers the nonsense words of the incantation and watches as the dirt in the small circle swirls in a magical whirlwind. He so totally loves summoning demons. It's so _easy_.

The imp forms in the circle and Andrew drops the loop of his belt over the two-foot creature's head. It glares up at him, irritated, and Andrew says, "One service. I'll pay you fairly."

The imp scowls and nods.

"Find She whose home this is," Andrew says, pointing to the apartment building. The imp looks at the building, sniffs the air, and nods. It takes off. Andrew doesn't try to hold onto the belt--it's part of him, he doesn't need to--but follows a few yards behind.

They don't go far--but then, Sunnydale isn't very big. Three blocks and they're in the little industrial section of town. The imp leads Andrew to a warehouse and points to the darkened door.

"Thank you, creature," Andrew says. The imp looks up at him expectantly and Andrew takes out his wallet and gives it his plastic library card. It chitters happily and takes a huge bite as Andrew pulls the belt from its neck, releasing it.

Then Andrew goes inside. His nose tingles as he wanders the halls; it smells like age and magic and _power_\--and blood, fresh blood, stronger as he works his way inside.

There's a shattered steel door and all the scents are strongest here. Two men are inside, one wounded, one just scared. Andrew steps over the threshold and sees Her--and She sees him.

She narrows her eyes. "You're amazing," Andrew says.

"I know," she answers, walking toward him casually.

"Be my master," Andrew says.

She stops; her mouth opens and after a second she laughs loud. "I? _Love_ this country! I'm here for a _day_ and you roll out the _welcome_ mats!"

"You are glorious," Andrew says, creeping closer, "I've never seen anyone like you."

"Oh no, baby, and you won't, either." She reaches out for him--then frowns and stumbles and suddenly changes back into Ben White. Still in the dress. It almost fits. "Oh shit," Ben says.

His smell changed utterly in the transition. There's no power here, no age, just human scent and male skin. Ben looks confused; he looks around and Andrew hears the sound of his heartbeat. "You--you have to stop us," Ben says.

"All Man's dominion will be Her prize," Andrew mutters, and Ben looks at him, eyes widening, and Andrew leaps upon him and tears out his throat. Because maybe, just maybe, this is how to save the world.

Ben's blood gushes down his throat. It tastes so amazingly sweet. Different from Joshua--Joshua was kind of spicy, kind of wild; Ben is human, pure as water.

Human. He tastes so good because he's only human. Andrew pulls away, suddenly sick to his stomach.

But he had to do it--didn't he?--yes, he _had_ to, and enjoying it wasn't the point. Wasn't why he did it. He's not evil.

Not evil.

Andrew drops Ben's body.

"Oh..." There's a man in a chair in a monk's robe and another man, dressed as a security guard, tied to the wall. Andrew breaks the chains on the man tied to the wall and then runs over to the other. A bleeding man tied to a chair--Andrew remembers that first rush of life after death.

"I can help you," Andrew says.

"Fox in the henhouse, chickens in the corn," giggles the first man. He holds his head and wobbles out the door.

"You have helped... helped the world... you have saved us from the Beast. She would rule us all... she would drag us into the depths of hell. Creature, you are blessed," the monk whispers, and then he dies. Andrew can see the life go out of him.

Andrew sits back on his heels.

He just saved the world.

Probably.

He feels fantastic, like he's strong like Buffy, like he could rule the world. He wraps his arms around himself and feels his nerves crackle under his skin. He's a blessed creature--a monk said so!

But there's blood all over--_human_ blood--and if the Slayer finds out--Andrew looks at the two bodies and realizes it just looks like an ordinary vampire attack. One man with his throat torn out, another man tortured to death. If Buffy sees him, sees _this_, if the cops find this, if anyone does, he's _sunk_.

He knows in his own mind that he saved the world. That's enough.

He drops his bloodied belt to the floor. "Burn," he tells it, "consume this building." The belt immediately bursts into a hot green flame.

He watches as the fire creeps along the blood trails, blackening and cracking the concrete beneath. The blood burns long after it should have been consumed. When the flames reach the bodies of Ben and the monk, they flare up like bonfires and the ceiling catches fire. The concrete dimples and bubbles; the building is going to go soon.

He could just--stay, and--

Andrew runs. Fast. All the way home.

* * *

  
He's clean and showered three times over. There wasn't much blood, really; this time, it was clean.

Andrew turns on the news and watches the warehouse burn. Buffy wanders around, making his hackles rise and his instincts sing.

"Ooh," Buffy says, looking over his shoulder. "Fire. Pretty. How did things go with whatsisname?"

With Ben. Ben White.

"I couldn't find him," Andrew says. "His landlord said he disappeared."

"Oh. Well, that's good, right? This is Sunnydale. The evil usually moves in to stay." Buffy goes back into the kitchen and peeks at the cookies in the oven.

"Yeah," Andrew says.

"Why do you bake cookies when you don't actually eat?"

Andrew opens his mouth and closes it again. He does it because Willow did, and they forgave her--it's stupid. "I guess because it makes you happy," he says.

She grins.

He should just tell her what he did--but he already lied, so it's too late. He can just--it's like a secret identity, right? Like Batman. He's World-Saving Man on the sly.

He can handle more secrets. He rubs his nails furtively, checking and re-checking for blood.

* * *

  
"Blood and rum," Andrew tells Willy. "Heavy on the rum." He just needs to relax. He's wound way too tight.

Willy nods and glances behind Andrew nervously; yeah, someone is there. "That's more like it, pup. Drinking like a man." Spike sits next to him and blows smoke in his face.

Andrew looks at Spike. "If I buy you a drink, will you tell me horribly violent stories from your blood-soaked past?"

Spike blinks.

"I'm in a bad mood," Andrew says, "and there's nothing on TV."

Spike shrugs and bangs his hand down on the bar. "Willy! Make that two."

Andrew stares at his messed-up hand as Willy draws off two tumblers of oxblood from the tap. Things would be _different_ if that hadn't happened, if his brother hadn't been such a dick, if he hadn't been so stupid. He'd be different--_normal_\--and Xander would be dead.

Two fingers for a life. It's--it _is_ a good trade.

"So what happened, then?"

Andrew looks at Spike and Spike gestures with his chin to Andrew's hand.

"Oh," Andrew says. "Vampire."

"Held your neck?"

"Tried to hit."

"Mm. But it was Dru popped your cherry, right?"

Andrew stares at him as Willy sets their drinks down.

"Your neck cherry," Spike says.

Andrew imagines dusting him. He has a stake in his pocket.

"Never mind then," Spike says.

"Yes. Dru was the first. And the last."

"Nah, I had a nibble too."

Andrew slams his drink and does not dust Spike. "Give me the bottle," he tells Willy, and when Willy hands it over he goes to a booth.

Spike follows him. "Still want dirty stories?"

"Yeah."

"Could tell them about you. You were a sweet bite--what, fifteen years old?"

"Shut up, Spike," Andrew says, barely above a whisper, "or I tell the Slayer what you did to Giles."

Spike stops short; he looks to the right, obviously trying to remember. "Haven't touched the bugger. Can't."

"So? I can still tell her stories." Andrew stares at him.

Spike raises an eyebrow and leans back, slowly smirking. "Well, pup, that's a side of you I haven't seen."

"Shut up, Spike."

He was wrong. He doesn't want blood, he just wants quiet--but he doesn't want to be alone. He wants Joshua, he wants_ Joshua_, he knows where Tuaro lives--

He pours both glasses full of rum. Spike shrugs and drinks.

And pretty quickly, they both get drunk.

Andrew pillows his cheek on his hand, feeling his aura float about his body. He thinks that's what his aura should be like, anyway, something shimmering and billowing over him.

But he's bad, he's bad, and that makes his aura smaller or something. He read it in a book. Or maybe he doesn't have an aura at all, because he's a vampire. No soul.

Weight settles next to him and he can see Spike through half-closed eyes. Then he can feel Spike going through his pockets like the scavenger he is. Andrew moves his arm slowly and elbows Spike in the eye.

"Ow! Damn it, I was paying the man!" Spike shouts.

"Hmph," Andrew grunts.

"Got to pay Willy or he won't let us back, and then where will we be? Out in the cold playing checkers on tombstones like some pretentious Gothic wankers. Come on, you," Spike says, and he hauls Andrew's arm over his shoulders.

"Mm," Andrew agrees.

Of course, Spike didn't put his wallet _back_.

Spike walks them down the street. They're weaving back and forth; Spike must be very drunk if he can't walk in a straight line.

Spike is cold--_and hot_, ha ha!--but his leather coat feels pretty good on Andrew's side and his arms are amazingly strong. _I could sleep with you_, he decides.

"What was that, pup?"

"C'ld def'ni'ly slee' wi' you."

Spike walks faster. "Brilliant! I love shagging the Slayer's friends."

Andrew snorts.

"Never had the chance before. Course, Slayers before _her_, they never had any friends. Dour lot." They turn and there's grass under their feet: a cemetery. A few yards and Spike leans Andrew up against a tree.

"Look at you, floppy like Dru's dolls," Spike says. He fumbles with Andrew's belt buckle. Andrew rolls his head against the bark.

"HEY! Hands up, buttercup!"

And that... is definitely... Buffy.

Andrew groans and slides down the tree.

"It's me, you madwoman!" Spike snaps. "And this is a vampire, so bugger off."

"Spike? What are you up to?" Suspicious, of course. "Andrew?"

He feels her hand on his cheek. His eyelids are too heavy to open. "What did you do to him?" Buffy demands of Spike.

"Nothing! He bought the bottle himself. And he's a vampire! He'll sleep it off."

"Okay, so--Spike? Give back his wallet."

"What? What!"

"Wallet. Now."

"Had it for safekeeping," Spike mutters.

"Now run home. Scoot!" Buffy says.

Spike rustles off through the grass. "And now? You go back to Giles," Buffy says, "and maybe if you're lucky he'll be asleep or turned into a demon again and he won't notice that you were drinking."

"Spike," Andrew mumbles, meaning _let me have sex with Spike against a tree because that really is what I feel like doing_.

Buffy loops his arm around her shoulders and hauls him through the grass. "Spike bad. Like cigarettes. Only you get cancer of the soul or something, only you don't _have_ a soul, so I guess it's brain cancer. Spike makes you stupid. Bad Spike!"

Andrew groans.

* * *

  
Andrew wakes mid-afternoon with grass-stained clothing, a headache, and a much lighter wallet.

After the sun goes down he walks to Spike's crypt. He sits on the stone coffin in the middle of the room and looks at the downstairs level.

After a moment, Spike pokes his head up the ladder. "What? Oh, you."

"I'm not drunk, but the Slayer isn't around. Do you want to fuck?" Andrew asks.

Spike cocks his head. "Yeah. Sure."

Andrew follows him down the ladder.

* * *

  
...and a half:

"Halloween," Giles sighs, "so traditionally restful, but in fact so..."

"Chock full of poseurs," Spike says. He hands Giles the broom.

"Thank you." He starts sweeping up the vampire dust and shattered crystal balls--sixty dollars wholesale for that lot, bloody hooligans--then snaps back and looks at Spike. "What on earth are you doing here? Don't you spend Halloween watching television?"

"I suppose a little_ gratitude_ is right out of the question," Spike says, jerking his head in a way that Giles recognizes all too well.

"You were looking for Buffy," Giles says.

"Was bloody not!"

Giles points the broom at him and Spike lifts his chin and sucks in his cheeks defiantly. "Don't play innocent--you're terrible at it," Giles says.

"Hey, _I_ have my own life. I have a girl. Harmony. She's a hottie, very into me." Spike crosses his arms. "What would I want with the Slayer?"

Giles rolls his eyes and sweeps up the shards.

"Do those actually work? Those--balls? They tell you the future?"

"It depends on the person," Giles says.

Spike picks up a display model and looks into it. "Dru always said they worked. But she saw the future in jam, too, and little girls' eyeballs."

"Time-honored tactic among the evil and insane."

"Really?" Spike turns the crystal one way and another. "I never did see the future in anything, unless of course you're going to be upside down and sort of... squiggly in your old age," he says, squinting at Giles through the crystal.

"Possible, but unlikely."

Spike turns the crystal over in his hands. "So can you?"

"Can I what?" Giles brushes the glass into a dustpan.

"See the future with these things!"

"You want me to tell your _fortune_?" Giles pauses, dustpan in hand, and then laughs.

Spike glares at him balefully. "It isn't funny. Dru would never tell me. She'd look in her ball or--whatever she had--and she'd just hiss at me and wouldn't cuddle. Sometimes for _days_." He looks at the crystal and raises it as if he's going to smash it, but then puts it back on its base.

"So terribly sorry to hear of your romantic woes," Giles says. "Bring me the bin."

Spike hauls the trash to Giles and crosses his arms. "I helped you. On _Halloween_. When it's against the, the _traditions_ of my _people_, it is, being out tonight. You owe me."

"As I recall, you owe _me_. Blood isn't cheap. Nor is Weetabix."

"That! That was a charitable donation to a soul in need."

"Soul?" Giles raises his eyebrow and dumps out broken glass.

"Person. Thing," Spike says. "Oh, come on!"

Giles sweeps up more glass. "Just a peek," Spike says, "just a little hint of what's _happening_ to me."

There's an urgency to his voice, a _pain_ that gives Giles pause. This isn't some flight of fancy, this was a _plan_. "And what is happening to you, Spike?" Giles asks.

Spike gestures furtively to his heart, clutching with both hands, but then looks at Giles and frowns. "Nothing," he says, "forget it, forget all about it," and he stalks out, jingling the bell merrily behind him.

Well. That was worrisome.

* * *

  
Giles pulls into the driveway and Andrew pops up with a mixing bowl on his lap. "You missed the children," he says as Giles comes up the walk, "and they were children this year, I checked."

"There was a bit of a scuffle at the store," Giles says. "Some young vampires decided smashing pumpkins was cliché."

"Are you okay?"

"Oh yes. No more than I could handle. Spike helped a little." Giles plucks a Hershey's kiss from the bowl and goes inside.

Andrew follows. "Spike? Was out? On Halloween?"

"He had something to ask me."

"Oh! Still, he should stay home," Andrew says. "It's unseemly. I mean, he made a big deal out of it." He puts the bowl of candy down on the stairs.

"Spike's been giving you vampire lessons?" They fought like a cobra and mongoose before--but they seemed quite chummy when they stopped Dracula together.

Andrew shrugs and looks at the floor. "We talk sometimes."

"I'm glad to see you've reached some sort of détente," Giles says, "since he refuses to leave town."

Andrew rubs the back of his neck. He's wearing a black turtleneck and gray jeans, Giles notices. He wonders when exactly the boy started dressing like a man.

Probably it was Joshua's influence. He's not quite sure what happened with Joshua and Andrew; Andrew openly pines for him still. Willow checked the records at Giles's request and found that Joshua dropped out and left student housing. It's not unlike the breakup of Willow and Oz in that regard--but _their_ breakup was public, so very public, in every particular.

He could, of course, simply ask what happened.

He's running lines through his head, trying to work out how to phrase it--_how exactly did your young man rip your heart out and stomp it beneath his feet?_\--when Andrew says, "I"m going to go read."

Giles nods and Andrew retreats to the basement, looking morose.

He lets his breath out. There will be time.

The phone rings and he rushes to the kitchen and picks it up. "Yes?"

"Has the traditional Halloween terror started at your place? Everything is quiet here," Buffy says.

"Well--some young vampires tried to smash up my store. Spike happened by and staked them out of embarrassment for his kind."

"Oh, God," Buffy groans, "_Spike_."

"We must forbear. It's good for the soul."

"Sure! It builds character. I'm building so much character there's going to be _two_ Buffys soon. Okay, I'm going to call around, see if everyone is all right. Halloween gives me the heebie-jeebies--I can't believe I used to think it was _fun_."

"I never thought it was fun," Giles says, and she laughs and hangs up.

Perhaps he's wrong. Perhaps they shouldn't forbear.

Perhaps they should take a more aggressive stance--stake Spike, stake Harmony, sweep Willy's clean of the scum that lurks there. They're evil and plotting against Buffy, all of them--

He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

This is absurd. They take problems as they arise, because anything more is not only unfeasible, but inhumane. The world of men and the world of demons coexist, they always have, they always will. The Slayer polices them--she doesn't deny them _existence_.

He's been tempted before. He considered turning Ethan over to the Initiative in a similar bout of anger--and humiliation, quite honestly; letting Ethan poison him was an amateur's mistake.

But he didn't call them. And when Ethan asked, arrogantly, _What's a Slayer going to do to me?_ it was Giles who answered him, who summoned lightning into the palm of his hand and scorched the hair off his head.

A fitting response. Humiliation for humiliation, but more importantly, it was between _them_.

There's no chain of reasoning that leads to imprisoning Ethan that doesn't lead to staking Andrew as well, and he can't--he simply can't do that.

The phone rings again and he snatches it up. "Yes?"

"Tara's dorm is having a party and most of the people attending are ghosts."

"Oh. Oh, dear. I think I have the supplies for an exorcism at the store," he says.

"No, it's cool. They're just hanging out. Willow says Tara is talking to a 150-year-old witch about spell something or others. Still, I'm heading over just in case. Do you have her number?"

"Yes--actually, would you mind if I joined you? That sounds fascinating."

"Sure! The more the merrier." She hangs up.

Giles taps on Andrew's door, then opens it and calls down: "There's an incidence of friendly ghosts at Tara's dormitory. I'm going over to take a look, are you interested?"

Giles hears a sniff, then Andrew replies: "No. Thanks."

Giles pauses. Andrew doesn't sound quite... "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

If he doesn't want sympathy, Giles certainly isn't going to force it on him. "I'll be back in a few hours."

* * *

  
"So--how long have you been dead?" Giles asks.

"Oh, about twenty years! It's been great. No harps, thank God," the girl says. She scoops a few more crisps from the bowl. "Have you had these things? They're fantastic! Spicy!"

"No formless anger, then? No unsolved crime that calls out for justice?" Giles looks around the party. The ghosts stood out primarily by their outdated clothes; they were laughing and chatting with the live students and each other alike.

"Oh no! I tried to fish out toast from my toaster with a fork. Boy, dumb, huh?" The ghost rolls her eyes. "But I met a guy up, you know, beyond, who tried to feed goldfish crackers to an alligator. So I feel better."

"Yes, I suppose you might."

Willow and Tara are sitting with an older woman in a plain, sober Victorian dress, and Buffy appears to be flirting with a young man in 1920s clothing who doesn't know where to look. Riley pokes his head in the door and Buffy holds out her hand to him instead.

"You want to dance?" the girl asks.

"Oh. Er. No, I couldn't possibly--"

"Oh, come on!" She takes his hand and pulls him up. Her skin is cold and she makes his spine tingle, but he doesn't sense any lingering evil. "You remind me of my Poli Sci professor," she says.

"Do I?" She's backing him onto the dance floor.

"I had a huge crush on my Poli Sci professor." She grins.

Well, only one dance--

* * *

  
He drops Buffy off at her house. "Goodnight, blue suede shoes!" she giggles.

Giles groans and rests his head on the steering wheel. He'll never hear the end.

* * *

  
Tuesday afternoons are supposed to be quiet.

"So, like, if I want to talk to a dead person? Can I do that?" the girl asks.

Giles isn't quite sure what to tell her. Yes, she can, but the _price_\--every action has a reaction, and raising the dead is a very great action. "There is a way," he says finally.

He takes down a blend of chamomile and witch's grass he makes at home and marks up ten times. "Brew this as a tea," he says, "and drink one cup every night before bed for a fortnight. At the end of that time you'll dream of the person you desire to contact, and if you are a sensitive person, it will be a waking dream."

It's nothing like a sure thing, but it's safe.

She sniffs the herbs and makes a face. "You can add honey. It won't affect the magic," Giles says.

"But I can finally give that bastard a piece of my mind, huh?"

"I suppose so. Twenty-four ninety-five."

She pays and leaves a happy customer. Giles rubs his temples and goes back to Bailey's _Life Beyond Life_.

_Ghosts can be angry, sad, trapped, or on rare occasions, joyous_.

The bell over the door rings again--he's starting to hate that sound--and he looks up to see a half-dozen gray-skinned demons file through the door.

They must be the demons Andrew has been researching. He hasn't actually seen them before. Andrew still hasn't found a name for them; he confirmed that they're neither Cratchler entities nor Firack demons, and they have no other leads.

"Hail, sorcerer!" the lead demon says. "We have come to speak to you about our god."

"Your--god?" Demonic Jehovah's Witnesses?

"We saw her only a week ago," another demon says. The lead demon shushes her and turns back to Giles with an ingratiating smile.

"If you can assist us in locating our god, your rewards will be plentiful and rich beyond measure!" the lead demon says.

"I sure I haven't the faintest idea who or what you're looking for," Giles replies.

The demons look at each other. "She is glorious," one says. "She is creamy-skinned and delicious," says another. "We are unworthy of her," says a third.

"Well, if you're unworthy of her, perhaps that's why she left you," Giles says. "Did you think of that?"

Their faces fall. "Indeed we did not. Thank you, O sorcerer," the lead demon says. They look at each other again, then file out, heads hung.

Giles sits for a moment before going back to his book. The bell rings again almost immediately.

"Did you see those odd little men outside your shop?" Joyce Summers asks.

"I--well, yes. Demons, I'm afraid," Giles says. "Quite unexpected in broad daylight. They came in to chat about religion."

"How very odd." Joyce peers out the front window at the glum parade.

"It's delightful to see you. It's been some time."

"It's been quiet lately. Normally some crisis brings us all together," Joyce says, interlacing her fingers. She frowns suddenly. "It--has been quiet, hasn't it? Or is Buffy just not telling me--?"

Giles thinks about Harmony's attack, Spike's continued presence, Angel's visits and all the other incidents that they have failed to mention to Buffy's mother. "Relatively quiet," he says, because after all, this is Sunnydale.

"Well, good."

"Would you like some tea?" Giles walks around the counter and gestures to the back room.

"No, actually." Joyce resettles her purse on her shoulder and sits at the worktable. "I came to talk to you."

He joins her at the table. "Yes?"

"Andrew," she says, and Giles is instantly alarmed.

"Has he--done something?"

"No, not at all. He's a sweet boy, good company. Nice parents," she says with carbon steel in her voice, "who have been looking for him for the past two and a half _years_."

Giles closes his eyes. He knows this argument; he has been having it with himself for a very long time.

"Buffy was gone for a _summer_ and it nearly killed me. You've left them in the dark for _years_?"

"Buffy was alive," Giles replies. He opens his eyes.

The anger on her face is crystalline and all too familiar. "If Buffy was a vampire I would want to know! I would have to know! Poor Mary doesn't know if Andrew is alive or dead! I didn't know what to _say_ to her! That I've had her boy sitting in my kitchen a dozen times and she hasn't seen him even once?"

"And what is he?" Giles asks. "Alive or dead?"

She sets her purse heavily on the counter. "Alive," she says.

"You are naïve," Giles says, and he thinks for a moment that she's going to throw a punch. "He's a demon animating the body that once belonged to the boy named Andrew Wells. That demon has his form and his memories, but the quart of gourmet pig's blood in my refrigerator is not there to be drunk by any human child!"

Joyce meets his eyes. He can see her fire, but he knows he's right. "He lives with you and you think that way?"

"All the more for living with him. If you saw his reaction to a cut finger--"

"Then tell them that he's dead," Joyce says. "Let them mourn."

"Ms Summers, do you know how many of her classmates Buffy has had to stake? How many piles of dust I've swept up from the school floor? I cannot start--" He searches for the word.

"Caring?" Joyce asks.

He should never have met her. Not her, not Dawn, not any of Buffy's friends, because if he'd been a proper Watcher, she wouldn't_ have_ any friends. There would be no-one to care for her, no-one to aid her in her fight--and she would be dead.

He's an improper Watcher. His reward is Buffy's life. His punishment is--this.

"I do care, Ms Summers," he says. "I have not forgotten that children have parents. But all that I can do is what I am doing now." He gestures to the books, the store, his role in Buffy's small army.

Joyce's mouth is small and flat and angry. "I can't agree," she says.

It was always a fragile truce between them. "Last night Buffy dusted a girl named Christine Oakland. She was reported missing September of last year. If you're visiting Andrew's parents, you might visit hers as well."

She stands and picks up her purse. He quite sure she'll never forgive him.

"And Saturday, the boy's surname was Taylor... first name Justin, I believe. Missing since 1984, but his family is in Reno, so that may be out of your way."

She is a mother, and Giles is no kind of father. "If Andrew is nothing more than a soulless demon," Joyce asks, "why do you let him live?"

Giles doesn't answer immediately. She waits.

"Because enough of the boy remains that I can't bear to see him die," Giles says. It's the simple truth. Saying it feels like ripping off his skin.

Joyce meets his eyes. "I see." She turns and leaves.

He toys for a moment with the idea that things would have gone--differently--after the dreadful incident of the band candy, if he had been a better man.

But he is only who he is. Flawed, failed, and far too tainted by darkness.

He sighs and adds a shot of scotch to his tea.

* * *

  
"It has been quiet, hasn't it?" Giles mentions to Buffy as he partners her through a set of exercises for the stave.

She frowns, obviously thinking, and raises her eyebrows. "I guess. I can't swing my purse without hitting a crusty little hobbit, but all they do is run away from me. Have you figured out what they want?"

"Oh, yes, I believe so--some of them came into the shop earlier. They're hunting for their god."

Buffy knocks him off his feet and he stays down, catching his breath. Buffy leans on her stave. "Do you think they're trying to raise it here? Some kind of demon god?" she asks.

"They implied, actually, that they mislaid her. They wanted my help in locating her."

"They--what? They lost her? Like you lose an earring?"

"Well, yes." Giles has to smile.

She laughs, but sobers quickly. "This so can't last. Keep your eyes open. There's always _something_\--this is Sunnydale."

"I am watching. Can you give me a hand?" He reaches up to her and she pulls him easily to his feet. "Lord," Giles says, stretching painfully, "next time you're sparring with Andrew."

"If I break you, do I have to buy you?" Buffy smiles, then freezes, obviously thinking. "Giles--remember that warehouse that burned down?"

"Yes, it was on the news."

"I rousted some vamps around there a while ago, and I remember those buildings were concrete and steel from top to bottom."

"Which doesn't burn," Giles realizes. "Something else was there."

"What did the news say? Industrial accident?"

"I don't think they had any explanation at all."

"We should check it out."

Giles nods. "I'll look in the newspaper archives and see if anything stands out."

They put up the staves and return to the front.

"I still don't see why you won't repeat the duplication spell," Anya is saying to Xander, "it's actually quite easy."

"Because it was confusing _enough_ the first time, okay? I have memories from _two_ lives that day. It makes me all dizzy." Xander wiggles his fingers at his head.

"Well, that's very selfish of you."

"No, actually, it's not," Xander says, looking long-suffering. Giles heads straight to the talisman section rather than being pulled into that conversation yet again.

"It might be keen," Buffy says. "One of you could go to work and the other could stay at home and watch TV."

"Yes!" Anya says. "One could come help in the store!"

Giles leans over the divider. "I'm not paying for another assistant."

"It's all right, I could pay him in sex! This is an excellent plan!" Anya bounces on her heels.

The two girls browsing the candles are making a very good show of not listening. Giles sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"It's a great plan until you get to the part where I'm not doing it," Xander agrees.

"Are they for real?" one girl whispers to the other. The other elbows her.

"Can I help you ladies to find anything?" Giles asks.

They look at each other. "Are there candles to burn for good grades?" the first one asks.

Candles. Rubbishy things, but they sell like a cold drink on a hot day. "Not as such," although he stows the idea away for later, "but the pink ones bring general good luck, and the green ones draw money, for which good grades are a requisite."

"Cool," they say, and load up their hands with most of his stock.

"You're oppressing me and my desires! I know all about men," Anya is saying, so Giles follows the girls to the cash register. "I could turn your penis into a pickled leek!" she shouts as Giles rings up the girls' candles.

The girls are staring openly by now. "Thank you, come again," Giles says and hands them their bag.

Xander is a little pale. "Anya?" Giles says.

"What!"

"If you ever argue with your boyfriend in front of the customers again, you're fired."

She stares at him, wide-eyed. "He started it!"

"That was your only warning." Giles retrieves the week's shipping order from beneath the counter and looks it over.

"Men," Anya mutters to herself.

"And that is by no means the _only_ offense for which I might fire you," Giles says.

"Pickled leek?" Buffy says.

"They're much tastier than penises," Anya tells her. Xander whimpers.

* * *

  
"They found two bodies in the wreckage of the warehouse, neither of them yet identified, and a spill pattern that suggests arson. The current owner has a large insurance policy on the warehouses and no tenants, so he is under investigation. The state of one of the bodies indicated that he was indigent--he had never received care for his teeth and several bones were broken and reset inexpertly." Giles holds the phone between ear and shoulder as he stirs his pasta sauce.

"So nothing really_ screams_ magical attempt to suck the world into hell," Buffy says.

"Well, it screams insurance fraud gone terribly wrong, but there's always the chance that it's something else."

"Yeah..." Buffy sighs. "I just have this funny feeling, you know? An instinct that this is something more. There has to be something else, something we're missing..."

"Spike was acting very strangely on Halloween."

"And then the ghosts--which brought the wacky, not the evil, but still--"

"Unusual paranormal activity can be a sign that mystical energy has been released in an area."

"He's up to something. I knew this peace and quiet thing was too good to be true."

"The question now is--what?"

"I'm thinking tag team. Bad cop, British cop. I can hit him and you can turn him into a frog!" she says brightly. "Are you free tonight?"

"I--yes."

"So, come pick me up in an hour?"

"I'll be there." Giles hangs up the phone, then drains his pasta.

Andrew opens the basement door dressed extraordinarily: new thigh-length black leather coat, ripped and excessively safety-pinned black t-shirt, black jeans, and thick-soled amply-buckled boots. The ring in his upper ear has been joined by two in his right nostril and he's wearing rather a lot of eyeliner. He leans against the kitchen table with his hands in his pockets.

"Going out?" Giles asks. Andrew nods.

"Is there any particular reason you're dressed like Spike?" Giles asks.

Andrew hunches his shoulders. "Joshua got me to throw out a lot of my old clothes and get new ones. I'm tired of dressing the way he wanted me to. This is my new look."

"Which happens to be Spike's look."

"Just tonight. Pretty much by accident."

Giles nods. "I wouldn't take Spike into my home--that is, I _did_, but only as payment for his information. I wouldn't live with him voluntarily." He glances at Andrew. "When I took you in, I expected to have to stake you before the end of the summer. I thought surely by then the demon would overwhelm the boy--but it did not and it has not. You are who you are. You surpassed my greatest hopes," Giles says.

Andrew bites his lip.

"Do you remember that," Giles says, and sits down with his dinner.

"I will," Andrew says, and he's gone.

* * *

  
Buffy is waiting in front of her dorm. "Why is Mom pissed off at you?" she asks as she gets in the car. "I talked to her earlier and when I said your name she got growly."

"We had an argument," he says, putting the car in gear.

"About?"

"An issue upon which we disagree."

"Which is?" She pokes his arm with her forefinger.

"None of your business."

"Giles!"

"It's not Slayer business, it's between your mother and myself, and that's the end of it."

Buffy gives him a hard look but settles into her seat without apparent resentment. "Any guesses as to what Spike is doing?"

"I very much fear that it has to do with a certain missing god," Giles says.

"Spike... killed God? Maybe I can write a philosophy paper on him."

Giles stops at a light. "A formless swell of mystical energy, resulting in the temporary raising of several dozen ghosts in corporeal form. It takes immense energy to raise even one happy spirit--normally there has to be some hook, some strong emotion on their part to draw them back to this plane. He may not have _killed_ this god, but it would take an enormous event to release that much energy, and who would go to all that trouble without having some other purpose for it?" As he says it, though, he thinks--Ethan. Ethan would perform a major ritual and then set the energy free, just to see what happens.

"Sounds like our boy, all right."

"I could be wrong," Giles says.

He pulls into the cemetery, driving carefully along the hearse paths, and parks near Spike's crypt. He hates to leave his car in the cemetery, but--well, he's with the Slayer. This is as safe as it gets in Sunnydale.

Buffy marches up to the crypt; Giles follows with a wary eye to the ground around them. "Hey," Buffy whispers, raising a cautionary hand. "Voices."

"Who?"

Buffy listens hard. "Spike and Andrew?" She steps into the crypt. "So. What's up?"

Spike and Andrew are sitting on the sarcophagus with a bottle of vodka between them. Andrew is shirtless, scratched, and bruised; as he turns to look at Buffy, Giles sees that his left eye is swelling. Worrisome. "Buffy and the Brain," Spike says, "this _is_ a delight."

"Andrew, what happened to you?" Giles asks.

"I borrowed Spike's shirt without asking."

"Stole it! And got a proper beating for it," Spike says.

"Now we're bonding through alcohol." Andrew crosses his arms over his chest and edges sideways. The marks on his chest are of varying age: he didn't take them all tonight.

And he won't look Giles in the eye.

Very worrisome.

Andrew picks up his coat from the floor and slips it on over his bare chest--an unsettling look on his teenaged frame, but it makes him visibly more comfortable.

"How very vampiry," Buffy says. "Spike, we have some questions for you."

Spike shoots a look at Andrew and turns to the Slayer with a slow smile. "Oh. Do tell."

"What have you been up to lately?"

Spike shrugs. "Smoking. Drinking. Thinking about the chip."

"No big magical stuff? No trying to end the world?"

"No. I've done with that." Spike takes a swig of vodka from the bottle. There aren't any glasses.

"What did you want from Giles on Halloween?"

Spike's face twitches and he drinks from the bottle again. "Nothing."

"Sure. _Nothing_ dragged your ass out of this crypt on the one day you never stick your nose outside."

"Fine. I wanted to see if I ever get the chip out."

"You know I don't believe you. Why do you bother to lie to me?" Buffy asks.

"Why do you bother to ask me?"

"Andrew!" Buffy says. Andrew startles and sits up straight.

"Yes, Slayer?" His eyes are like dinner plates.

"What's Spike been up to lately?"

"Um. Smoking, drinking, and complaining about the chip, pretty much. The last time I know he was involved with anything magical was when he helped me trap Dracula," Andrew says.

"Oi! _You_ helped _me_. It was my plan!"

"It was my blood," Andrew says.

"But has he killed any demon gods lately is my real question," Buffy says.

Andrew jerks upright. "Demon? Gods?"

"Gods? Show me a god and I'll spit in its sodding eye."

"Been involved in any warehouse fires? Raised any ghosts?" Buffy looks from Andrew to Spike.

"You're off your rocker," Spike says.

"Killed anybody?"

"No!"

"Is this true?" Buffy asks Andrew.

Andrew looks petrified. "I don't know--I don't think he's--I really don't know anything, Slayer!"

Buffy glares at both of them. Andrew draws his knees up, shrinking himself under her eye as much as possible; Spike stretches his legs out and props the bottle on his groin.

"I'll just take a look around," Buffy says, and Spike looks alarmed at _that_.

"Those are my private things! Dirty, manly things that are not for female eyes," Spike says.

"What are you talking about?" Andrew whispers to Spike. Spike slaps him on the back of the head.

"Mm hm." Buffy climbs down the ladder; Spike jumps to his feet and starts to follow, but Giles grabs his shirt.

"I don't believe you either," Giles says softly. "Would you like to see _my_ interrogation techniques?"

"Fine! Fine. I've been robbing old ladies, right?"

"Robbing old ladies."

"Fags cost! Booze costs! And they lock up the stores so much it's _work_ to break into them. So I jump out, gives the biddies a bit of a scare, and swipe their wallets. No harm done! Tell the Slayer to back off," Spike says, wrenching out of Giles's grasp.

"_Robbing old ladies_?"

"Oh. My. GOD!" Buffy screams. "SPIKE!"

She barrels up the ladder. Spike's eyes widen and he starts to bolt, but Andrew tackles him to the floor. They roll across the stone, snarling at each other, as Buffy leaps up from the basement with a sweater in her hand. "SPIKE! You are the grossest thing I have _ever met_!"

The two vampires pause in their scuffle, Spike's arms locked around Andrew's waist. "I can explain!" Spike says.

"Oh. No explaining. Just setting on fire," Buffy says. "This? Is my sweater. And also? My bra!"

"It's! I can--" Spike shoves Andrew away from him and circles away from Buffy. Giles gives Andrew a hand up. "It's like a predator--it's that I'm in love with you," Spike says, and he falls to his knees.

Buffy is dumbfounded. Andrew lets his breath out and doesn't draw in again.

"Like a witching knight for his lady fair," Spike says, inching closer to Buffy on his knees, "or the poison for the unicorn's horn--"

"Oh, _do_ stop," Giles says.

Spike embraces Buffy's thighs. She kicks him in the stomach. "We're leaving," she says to Giles.

"Fine," Spike gasps out, "you run, but you'll never outrun my heart!"

"I'm going to burn these," Buffy says as she stalks out of the crypt. Giles follows her; Andrew lags behind, but Spike spits a curse and Andrew catches up to them.

"Harmony is going to be super-pissed when she finds out," Andrew says.

"Watch me shed a tiny perfect tear." She climbs into the passenger seat of Giles's car, looking over her sweater. "Ew! I think he got blood on it."

Andrew hops over the side of the car into the back seat.

"I think I should kick Spike's ass some more."

"I doubt he had anything to do with this," Giles says, and starts the car.

"Oh, I _know_ he doesn't have anything to do with this. But in between figuring out who _does_, I'm thinking some face-punching is in order," Buffy says.

Giles glances over his shoulder. Andrew's eye is swollen nearly shut. "What do you think, Andrew?"

"Hitting Spike is good."

"We think there's a connection between a recent fire in a warehouse, the strange demons and their missing god, and the Halloween incident of the ghosts," Giles says, glancing back at Andrew periodically.

"If it's not Spike, there's some new evil in town," Buffy says.

Andrew is pale as milk in his new jacket. "I guess so," he says.

* * *

  
...and three quarters:

"And you'll be careful," Xander says.

"Yeah." Andrew pockets the keys.

"Do you--wait, do you actually have a license?" Xander takes his shoulder urgently.

"I have a fake license that looks real. And Mr. Giles taught me to drive on his car."

Xander still has his shoulder. "So why aren't you driving the Gilesmobile?"

"The trunk isn't big enough for me to get into if I have sun problems."

"Maybe I should drive!" Xander says. "See Cordelia! Make my ex-demon girlfriend painfully jealous," he says, face falling.

"I promise I won't let Angel touch it," Andrew says.

Xander makes a face, but sighs. "So long. Have fun."

"Thank you, Xander." Andrew leaves quickly before Xander changes his mind again.

Lending Andrew his car is a touching gesture of faith and friendship. Andrew only hopes that he can live up to Xander's example.

The route out of town takes him past the Summers house, and Andrew stops for a minute to ask Dawn if she wants anything from L.A.

He smells the cigarette smoke as soon as he gets out of the car. "Spike, what are you doing?" he asks.

"Lurking. Spying on my mortal enemy." A shadow shifts behind a tree and smoke drifts through the lower branches.

"Who is also your best beloved," Andrew says.

"Shut your mouth," Spike says. His voice is low and full of threat.

Andrew hasn't seen him since that night. Since Mr. Giles saw him there. He didn't say anything, but he _saw_, and Andrew just couldn't go back.

Plus--he's pretty sure Spike wasn't thinking of Harmony while doing Andrew, but he's not sure at all that he wouldn't think--wasn't thinking--of Buffy. And that's disturbing and wrong.

The front door flies open. "Andrew! Are you talking to Spike?" Buffy shouts.

"Yes, Slayer!"

"That's it." Buffy storms out of the house cocking a crossbow. "Andrew, clear the target."

Spike jumps out from behind the tree and pulls Andrew in front of him. "Now, Buffy, don't be hasty--"

"I've had enough. More than enough. I should have killed you years ago. Now you're doing some sick stalker routine and you think I'm being _hasty_? Stand up, Spike," Buffy says, pointing the crossbow at Spike and Andrew, "take it like a man for once."

"My love is pure and beautiful and eternal!" Spike shouts in Andrew's ear. He's edging them back against the car; he's _so_ going to make a break for it.

"It's Xander's car, Slayer," Andrew says. "Please don't scratch the paint!"

Spike flings open the door; another car drives by and blares its horn, distracting the Slayer. Spike pulls Andrew into the car sideways and fishes the keys out of his pockets despite Andrew's struggles.

"Hey!" Buffy says. She grabs Andrew's ankle but Spike already has the car started and roaring down the street.

"Stop! Stop the car, it's Xander's! If you crash it he'll rip out your eyes and set you on fire!" Andrew struggles to pull himself entirely in the car and shut the door.

"Oh, save me from the mighty carpenter," Spike sneers. He slows down some as they tear down Revello, though, and he stops at the light at the end. "What are you doing with Xander's car?"

"I have business in L.A."

"I'm coming with." The light turns green and Spike hangs a left toward his crypt.

"No!"

"Fine, then I'm tying you to a headstone and going alone."

"You cur!" Andrew tries punching him but Spike grabs his hand in mid-air and twists his wrist painfully. "Ow. Ow. Ow!"

"You either get the car back or you don't, pup," Spike says, steering the car into the cemetery one-handed.

Andrew tries to squirm out of Spike's grip, but Spike is using his joints against him. "I hate you _so_ much."

"Feeling's mutual." Spike stops the car by his crypt and looks at Andrew. "So?"

"Fine! Come with. But don't come back!"

"Not planning to. Had enough of this one-horse town." Spike turns off the car and stalks into the crypt, taking the keys with him.

* * *

  
Andrew tucks the keys into an inside pocket and looks over Xander's car carefully for scratches. It seems fine, thank goodness.

He tosses Spike's duffel bag out into the sidewalk. Spike is staring up at Angel's hotel.

"Been a while since I saw the old man," Spike says, shifting from foot to foot.

"Do you get along?" Andrew asks, looking up at the hotel facade.

"I hired a guy to torture him."

"Maybe this isn't a great idea. Maybe you should leave now!" Andrew says brightly.

Neither of them move.

"Well, I have to go in," Andrew says, "I have to see Mr. Wyndam-Pryce."

"And I can't stay in town without seeing Angel; he'll think I have something to hide," Spike says.

"Okay." Andrew takes a deep breath and puts one foot in front of the other.

Cordelia is sitting at the huge front desk reading a magazine and doing her nails. She looks up as the door swings shut and grins. "Andrew! Hi!"

"Hi, Cordelia," Andrew says. He likes her much better now that neither of them is in high school.

"And Spike." Her smile drops. "Can you hand me that axe so I can cut off his arms and legs?"

"Hey, I am the helpless victim of government science here! Harmless as a kitten! Don't be hacking off limbs!" Spike says, gesturing to his head.

"Oh, I heard about that!" Cordelia says. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce emerges from the doorway behind her. "So that means it'll be easy, right?"

Spike suddenly whirls. Andrew jerks and looks at him and sees that Spike is holding a crossbow bolt in his hand.

Angel and a Black man Andrew doesn't recognize are standing in the doorway; Angel has the crossbow in his hand. Spike backs up as Angel advances but Andrew stays put.

Angel picks up Andrew by the front of his shirt as he walks. "Andrew. You know, I'm sorry you got made. I'm sorry your life sucks. I'm sorry you ever met me. But there's absolutely nothing I can do about it and I'm now officially tired of apologizing. So unless you want me to end your misery with a table leg, leave me the hell alone." He tosses Andrew onto a padded couch in the middle of the room and backs Spike up against the front desk.

"Andrew is here to see me, actually," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says. Andrew sits up and pulls his shirt straight.

"Ducky," Angel says, standing four inches from Spike and resting his hands on the counter on either side of his body. "So how about you, William?"

"Here for a job."

"A job," Angel says. "Here for a job."

"I'm making a fresh start of it," Spike says, sounding amazingly pissy for someone bent backwards over a desk.

"Get out of here before I rip off your skin and make Cordelia a purse." Angel steps sideways and lets Spike out of his personal space.

"Wait. Who are these clowns?" says the strange guy.

"Family," Andrew says.

"Charles Gunn," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says, "meet Spike, also known as William the Bloody, bane of two Slayers, now running away."

The side door is swinging closed. Mr. Gunn moves to chase him, but Angel says, "Let him go."

"And this is Andrew. Perhaps we should go now," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says to Andrew.

"Go where?" Angel asks.

"Anyplace fun?" Cordelia asks.

* * *

  
The Host is a bright green demon with bright red horns and a bright blue suit. Andrew prefers Joshua's style of demoning.

Sometimes he really misses Joshua. He pinches himself to make it stop.

"Shiny white teeth and big blue eyes. You bring me the best presents," the Host says, talking to Mr. Wyndam-Pryce but smiling at Andrew. Andrew can't quite decide whether to flirt back or not. "What do you want from me, babydoll?"

"I want to know what my destiny is," Andrew says.

"Well, that's vague."

"I feel like--I think maybe I've lost my way." Andrew looks down at his hands. "Also I kind of want to know if there's any chance of getting my boyfriend back."

"Mm-hm. Well, pick a song from the big black book and I'll have a listen. We can slot you in after Daegana there." The Host indicates a girl vampire sitting at the bar.

Cordelia is paging through the book. "This is my mom's entire CD collection," she says.

"Well tell her to drop by, I'll buy her a Sea Breeze. Can I get you a drink, babydoll?"

"Blood and rum, please." He looks at the stage and panic creeps into his stomach. Cordelia hands him the book of songs.

A cute waiter comes by with his drink and a smile. Andrew downs half the glass in one go and points to one of the two Bowie songs in the book, a song he recognizes from Mr. Giles's vinyl: "Heroes."

The other one is "Let's Dance." Andrew isn't much of a dancer.

"Sure thing," The Host says.

"I should sing sometime," Cordelia says, "except I know what my future is going to be. Fabulous." She grins at Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.

The Host raises his glass. "That's the spirit--take no prisoners!"

Andrew finishes his drink and looks to the cute waiter for another.

* * *

  
He's kind of drunk when he gets up on stage. It makes things easier.

"I, I will be king," he sings, "and you, you will be queen. For nothing will drive them away... we can beat them, just for one day."

He watches the Host as he sings, but the demon doesn't change expression.

When he's done, a few people applaud, including the cute waiter. The Host meets him at the side of the stage. "You're going to die in three days," he says.

Andrew's knees give out. He sits heavily on the side of the stage. The Host sits beside him, saying, "If, baby, _if_ you don't go back home to the Slayer and tell her everything that's been going on these past few months. Every detail. All of it."

Andrew shakes his head as Cordelia and Mr. Wyndam-Pryce come up to him. "Are you all right?" Mr. Wyndam-Pryce asks.

"And you're going to get your guy back, all right, just not in the way you want."

Andrew shakes his head and he sobs, once; he sticks his wrist in his mouth to stifle it. "Oh, honey!" Cordelia says, and she hugs his shoulders.

_Die?_

"Is there anything--?" Mr. Wyndam-Pryce asks the Host.

"Anything you need to know? No. The problem is all his and so is the solution. Don't go looking to anyone else to make this better, you got that, babydoll?" the Host says to Andrew. "And try to make a little peace with yourself. There are worse things than being a vampire."

Andrew leans on Cordelia as they walk out of the club. His legs won't quite hold him up and he can't stop crying, silently.

* * *

  
Home. He has to go home.

And die.

Unless he tells the Slayer everything, so that she can fight whatever evil he's raised.

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. Tell her--that he killed a man and bit Joshua. He _can't_\--she'll _kill_ him!

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is driving Xander's car, because Andrew can't. Because he's going to _die_.

"Are you okay? What did he tell you?" Cordelia asks Andrew. She's in the back seat with him, her hand on his shoulder.

Andrew can't answer--he can't breathe to speak without freaking out. He must have--the great evil that the Slayer spoke of must be coming to bear on _him_. The power raised by the death of the god must be recoiling. He has to--

Andrew takes a deep breath. "He said I'm going to die."

"Oh, God! Did he say how? We can fight it!"

"The solution is up to me. I have to figure out a way to fight it. I think--" He can't tell Buffy without some kind of proof that it _was_ a god he killed, and not just a guy. Or maybe he can fight the power himself--he's very powerful. Way more powerful than anyone thinks.

He can do this. "I think I need to see your library, please, Mr.  
Wyndam-Pryce."

"Of course." Mr. Wyndam-Pryce takes a hard right turn and accelerates.

* * *

  
Back at the hotel, Angel and Mr. Gunn have Spike tied to a chair. "He came back and tried to steal blood from the fridge," Angel tells Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.

"I'm hungry!" Spike complains.

"This guy really survived over a century? Don't see how," Mr. Gunn says, kicking the leg of Spike's chair.

Spike shifts to his vampire face and snaps at Mr. Gunn. "If I had my sodding _teeth_ back, I'd show you, now wouldn't I?" he snarls.

"Don't underestimate him--he's stupid but tenacious, like a Yorkshire terrier. What's wrong with what's-his-name?"

"Bad reading," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says, and he shows Andrew into the office behind the desk. Andrew looks at the shelves--ooh, the Annals of Grigor--and pulls an armload.

Andrew's skin prickles; he looks up and sees Angel, who turns away.

* * *

  
Mr. Wyndam-Pryce takes a pillow and sheets from the bedroom closet and makes up the couch. "I'm sorry, I don't have any blood, and I suppose food does you no good at all. We should have taken some of Angel's. I wasn't thinking."

"I think Angel would have objected." Mr. Wyndam-Pryce's apartment smells like Mr. Giles's house--magical herbs and old books. Andrew sits at his desk and looks at the books on his shelves.

"No--not at all. His problem with Spike is with the man himself. He tried to kill Angel more than once."

"So did I." Andrew glances at Mr. Wyndam-Pryce and then back at the books. "Only seriously the once."

"Oh. I don't think he carries a grudge, though."

"It would have worked if the Slayer hadn't been there," Andrew says.

"I hope you won't take it the wrong way when I say that I'm glad it didn't."

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce never saw Angel when he was evil.

"Would you like something to drink? I have--" He opens the fridge. "Water. And nothing else. I'm sorry, it's been rather hectic."

"Did you find the thing the lawyers raised?" Andrew asks, remembering the research session at the beginning of the summer.

"Oh, yes!" Mr. Wyndam-Pryce takes a bottle of water from the fridge and pulls an armchair over to the desk. "It was--well. Your great-grandmother, in a sense. Darla. Wolfram and Hart brought her back to life as a mortal. The whole situation has put Angel in a bit of a mood."

Andrew looks up from the books. "Darla gets a second chance?"

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce leans back in his chair. "Well, it's more complicated than that..."

He remembers Darla--he saw her, once, leaping over a gravestone, telling her minions to chase Xander and Willow and Jesse-who-died. She was an ancient monster and she was finally killed by Angel and she gets a second chance at being alive. "I wish I could be human again."

"It is hard, I know, but you're doing good works and you have your soul."

Andrew jerks his head.

"No?" His eyebrows knot together. "You don't have a soul? But I thought certainly--"

"No." Mr. Giles never said why. Andrew didn't ask.

"Oh," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says, "well, congratulations on your self-control."

* * *

  
Around two in the morning there's a knock on the door. Andrew is studying Mr. Wyndam-Pryce's books; Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is sleeping with his clothes and half the lights on. He just sat down and keeled over about an hour ago.

Andrew looks through the peephole and sees Mr. Gunn. He works with Mr. Wyndam-Pryce and everyone, so--he'd better let him in. He unlatches the three locks on the door. "Hi. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is asleep," Andrew says.

"Yeah, I just came by to see if you ripped his throat out." Mr. Gunn shoulders past him and heads straight for the bedroom.

"I don't eat people," Andrew says, but Mr. Gunn isn't listening.

"Ah! Who's--" Mr. Wyndam-Pryce falls out of bed. "Charles?"

"How's the neck?" Mr. Gunn asks.

"Fine, until I fell on it. Don't sneak up on a man!" Mr. Wyndam-Pryce shuffles out of the bedroom rubbing his neck.

"I'm sorry. I thought I should let him in," Andrew says.

"Of course you should let him in, Andrew." Mr. Wyndam-Pryce smiles. "Charles is simply a little overprotective."

"Yeah, well, I got a long look at that other guy and I don't feel so good about letting you go home with this one." Mr. Gunn eyes Andrew like a Slayer.

"The only thing Spike and I have in common is blood," Andrew says.

"Blood and no soul."

"Regardless--Andrew didn't rip my throat out while I slept. He lives with Rupert Giles, Charles, he helps the Slayer. I told you about her."

"Yeah." Mr. Gunn looks at Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. "How come she never comes north and cleans up _our_ streets, anyway?"

Andrew clears his throat. "No offense intended, Mr. Gunn, but Sunnydale is a Hellmouth. I've helped to avert an apocalypse three times." Four if he counts Ben White.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce salutes Mr. Gunn with his water bottle. "After Sunnydale, Los Angeles was restful."

"Maybe for you," Mr. Gunn retorts.

Living in Sunnydale is messed up. It messes you up, it makes you crazy. If he could have stayed away from the vampires, if he could have been a normal boy, then he wouldn't have a demon now telling him he has three days to live.

This is crazy. This world makes no sense. "Twenty-three people in my class were killed or disappeared before graduation," Andrew says, "including me. It was only twenty in the Slayer's class, the lowest ever. They gave her an award."

Mr. Gunn makes a noise in his throat and looks at Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. "A sparkly umbrella," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says.

"Well now it all makes sense. Can't compete with an umbrella."

"How is Sunnydale?" Mr. Wyndam-Pryce asks Andrew. "Did you find out what those gray demons were?"

Andrew looks down, breathes in and out a few times. "Firack demons. I found them in Carysine."

"Carysine! My word. I can't even read that one without tinted glasses. It pulls your soul out," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says to Mr. Gunn, gesturing to his head. "Very distressing."

"Bad poetry," Andrew says.

"Perhaps you could transcribe it for those of us with souls."

Andrew nods. "Maybe."

If he survives.

* * *

  
Mr. Gunn is sleeping with his head on the kitchen table. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce made it back to the bed. Andrew turns out the lights and reads via moonlight. He has good eyes--vampire eyes.

He starts looking for the name of the god. Then, maybe, he can avert his doom.

* * *

  
He leaves as soon as the sun dips behind the horizon, with a stack of notes and the ingredients for a protective spell.

No more crying. No more hiding. Time to show how powerful he really is.

* * *

  
"I'm going to kill him," Xander says.

"Angel kept him?" Buffy asks Andrew.

"Tied to a chair," Andrew says.

"There's a certain symmetry to that," Mr. Giles says.

"He stole my car! I'm going to drive up and kill him. Did he scratch the paint?" Xander asks.

"He didn't scratch the paint. I checked," Andrew says.

"Blech! Spike. Good riddance," Dawn says, and hugs Andrew.

Andrew hugs her back. "I have a ton of work to do, so I have to go hit the library."

"Yes? What _is_ the problem?" Mr. Giles asks.

"The singing demon told me I had to do this myself, so thank you, Mr. Giles, but I have to work alone." Andrew picks up his notes and heads straight for the library.

* * *

  
Saturday was one day. Sunday was one day. Now the sun is going down on Monday and he doesn't have the name, so he can't use the spell.

Only the Slayer can protect him now. Time to go and tell her everything.

Andrew puts on a clean white shirt and good pants. He only has combat boots and bright red sneakers, so he goes with the boots. He hesitates over the coat--but it _is_ kind of Spike-like and Buffy is still pissed at Spike, so he doesn't wear it.

He takes off the necklace Dawn gave him and sets it on his desk, just in case his death catches up with him on the way to the Magic Box.

Then he checks the sun carefully and steps outside.

It's just dusk. The sky is a brilliant blue in the west, outlining the trees black against the sky. Lights flick on one by one in the houses with their backs to the sun.

Andrew shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground.

Shops are still open. It's early. There aren't many people around, though, on a Monday night, and most of the monsters haven't left the house yet. Most of them like to wait for the stars.

Andrew looks up. No moon, no stars. It's blank, like daylight. It doesn't _feel_ like he's going to die tonight.

The lights are on in the Magic Box. Buffy and Mr. Giles will be there. Andrew takes a deep breath and walks in.

The little bell jingles and everyone turns. Buffy. Mr. Giles. Anya. Willow. Tara.

Joshua. Uncle Tuaro.

Joshua looks terrible, pale and drawn. He's standing by Buffy, pulling his collar back and showing the long, purplish scars Andrew left on his throat.

"Oh," Andrew says, barely loud enough to hear himself.

_You're going to get your guy back--just not in the way you want_. It wasn't the god, it was the man seeking his revenge.

"Andrew," Buffy says, "we can talk about this."

"I mean, I didn't consider this possibility, though maybe I should have," Andrew says, feeling his hands start to shake. He takes a step backwards and Buffy starts toward him; he bolts for the door, bites his hand and slaps it on the door frame, shouting "Hold!" before he can really stop to think.

His blood shimmers and spreads in a halo around the building. The door rattles and shakes with Slayer strength, but it holds. Blood is powerful.

"What's going on?"

Andrew yelps and slams back against the door. "Dawn! Don't sneak up on evil creatures of the night!"

"Well, if I see one, I won't," Dawn grins. "What's up? Anya is pounding on the window."

"The. The door is sealed." Blood is powerful... he's done a lot of stuff with blood. "Dawn."

He healed Dawn's mother once. He did that. It's hard to think about--hard to hold it in his mind--but he knows, that was him... and it was Dawn's blood. He tasted it.

"You can help me," Andrew says, "if you want to, there's a way."

Dawn's blood is powerful. _She_ is powerful in some hidden way. He changed _reality_ once with her blood.

Maybe he can do it again.

"I get to help? Of course I want to help!" Dawn says. She beams and gives Andrew her hand.

He can fix things. He thinks--he's pretty sure.

There has to be a way.

He pulls Dawn around to the back of the Magic Box, into the back room through the back door. He darts up to the door that leads to the front room and dabs blood on that as well. "So what's going on? Someone's attacking the Magic Box?" Dawn asks.

"We need to fix things," Andrew says, "we need to set things back the way they should be." He takes a knife from the wall.

"Okay. Is this going to hurt?" Dawn makes a face at the knife.

"A little bit? We need to mix blood." Andrew picks up a bowl as well. "Just your arm, and my arm, and then magic."

Dawn groans. "Okay. But I don't have to look, do I?"

Andrew shakes his head. He sits on an exercise mat and Dawn sits across from him. Andrew goes first, cutting into his arm and letting the blood flow down his wrist, then holds his hand out to Dawn.

She squeaks as the knife bites into her skin. "I'm sorry," Andrew says.

"It's okay, it's okay!" she says, shaking her other hand. "Now what?"

"Now we change the universe so it's better."

"What?" Dawn gives him a funny look.

"I did it once! I can do it again. With you. We'll save everyone," Andrew says, laughing a little bit, "but they won't even know."

"Giles said changing reality is a big, big no-no. Like, you can cause more problems than you create, with the butterfly effect and stuff? Maybe we should check with him first," Dawn says, pulling at his hand.

Andrew holds on. "No. We can't. He's not available."

"Why do we have to change reality just to unlock the Magic Box?" Dawn asks.

"The Magic Box isn't the problem," Andrew says. He can feel the power growing, but there just isn't _enough_, not yet. "I put up the barrier. The problem is everything!"

An axe slams through the door and bounces off Andrew's barrier. "Wait. Wait a minute," Dawn says. Andrew tightens his grip on her arm. "Andrew, you're freaking me out!"

The axe breaks through the door again and someone pulls out a long shard of wood. "Dawn!" Buffy screams.

"Buffy?" Dawn tries to get up but Andrew yanks her closer. "Andrew, it's Buffy!"

"DAWN! Don't trust him! DAWN!"

There's not enough power, not yet, and his barrier is going to come down if Buffy destroys that spot of blood. He needs--he needs to fix this _fast_ so none of this ever happened, so none of it _will_\--he needs to go back to the beginning and make it so he never met Buffy, so he was never part of this, because it's been nothing but _wrong_.

Dawn freaks out and struggles with all her strength. She kicks the bowl and spills their blood across the floor, spilling the magic along with it.

"I'm sorry, Dawn," Andrew says, shifting from human to demon face, "but this is how it has to go."

And he bites her; he taps into the power directly, and it works, it works, it works! He can see all kinds of futures, and all kinds of pasts, too, just--_there_, like snowflakes in the sky. He can reach out--

There's one where Andrew is Dawn and Buffy's brother--but he and Dawn both die in that one, killed by Angel.

There's one where Andrew is a powerful he-witch and Buffy is dating Charles Gunn and Mrs. Summers has a surgery that removes her cancer. He looks at that one for a long, long time before he realizes that Giles is dead, killed by Angel, and--he can't.

There's one where Spike and Drusilla rule Sunnydale and Andrew is Drusilla's puppy and his name is Sunshine.

There's one where the Mayor rules Sunnydale and everyone else is dead.

There's one where Buffy lives in Cleveland and the Master has risen in Sunnydale. Willow and Xander are wrong somehow and Andrew works with Ethan Rayne and it's very confusing.

And then he finds it--

He was never in the cemetery. He was never attacked by vampires at all. His retard brother still attacked the Prom with hell-hounds, but Buffy stopped him. He's a normal boy, and he's friends with Jonathan from Buffy's class and another boy named Warren who didn't go to Sunnydale High and he's--

He can see how the future goes and it's _bad_. He's in love with Warren but Warren treats him just like Tucker did and he--they attack Buffy? And something with jet packs and ghosts and then he stabs Jonathan and he can't--

It's all wrong. He can't be that person. If he was nice and normal and never died then he--then that's the person he really is.

The killer.

He stares at himself. There he is. There he _is_. And he's gotten so many things so wrong...

He comes back to himself: his body, the floor of the shop, Dawn's body in his lap, Dawn's blood in his mouth.

Shouts. Screams. He looks up and sees Willow standing in the doorway, blocked by his blood-barrier, and Buffy red-faced and screaming behind her. He looks down at Dawn, pale and unconscious in his arms.

He hurt Dawn. For nothing.

_There are worse things than being a vampire_, said the Host.

The evil in him is his own evil. There's no miracle cure. There's no escaping _himself_, and what he is is _bad_.

A strange, thin man--Ethan Rayne?--shoulders in front of them and presses his hands to the barrier. His mouth moves and Andrew can feel the magic draining away; it becomes visible as it swirls away from Andrew and into the palms of Rayne's hands. Andrew doesn't get it, someone else _shouldn't_ be able to break his barriers without burning the blood away, but they're falling.

Buffy jumps over the threshold. She raises her stake. Andrew raises his right hand and looks at her over those two missing fingers--

It's because of her that he hasn't been in the ground for the past four years. It's because of her that they're not all in hell, or slaves to the Master, or demon food. Buffy _always_ wins. Buffy is the chosen Champion of good.

He's on the wrong side. He's _evil_. He can't win, he can't make it better, he can't fix it--_this_ is his destiny.

Dawn is limp and pale in his arms and the taste of her blood is in his mouth. Buffy circles around him, her eyes darting from Andrew's eyes to Dawn's face and back.

"I'm sorry," Andrew says, staring up into Buffy's eyes as she charges him.

* * *

  
...and the end.

Joshua is pale and stricken. "Did I do the right thing?" he asks.

"Probably not," Giles says.

Joshua swallows. "I really loved him."

"We always do worst by the ones we love." Giles removes his glasses and drops them on the table. He has no wish to see--anything.

"Dawn needs the hospital. Xander, drive us!" Buffy says. She and Riley and Xander rush out, Dawn lolling in Buffy's arms. Joshua looks at the sad pile of dust on the floor and his uncle ushers him out.

Willow cradles Tara on the floor. "Is she all right?" Giles asks.

"I think she is--the barrier just sucked all her juice out. Blood magic and earth magic don't really mix. Giles, isn't that--"

"Ethan Rayne. Yes. I summoned him."

"Claps of thunder in the middle of dinner--I didn't know that was your style these days, Ripper," Ethan says. He peers into the room where Andrew's ashes lay.

"Touch him and you'll regret it," Giles says.

Ethan smiles at him. He sashays toward Giles, twinkle in his eye becoming clear as he backs Giles into the table. "He's past caring--but you aren't, are you?" Ethan purrs. He clasps his hands behind his back and rests his cheek on Giles's chest. "Ah, Ripper."

Anya picks up the shop broom and dustpan and cleans up Andrew's ashes. Giles closes his eyes.

"He's touching you. That's disturbing," Anya says.

Giles knocks Ethan to the floor. Ethan chuckles up at him. "Angharok," Ethan says. "You knew."

"Yes," Giles says. Blood magic--black magic--stems from chaos. Andrew's affinity for it came from his Claw of Angharok.

"You could have stopped him," Ethan says.

Giles scowls at him. "If I had seen what he was doing, if I had paid more attention, if I had known, yes, I could have. Are there any other wounds you would like to salt before we go?"

"Not what I meant, Ripper." Ethan stands slowly, painfully. "You're as open to Chaos as I am, you always were. You could have absorbed that child's charms. You didn't. You called me. And now there's a price to pay."

"I was never a servant of Chaos."

Ethan smiles. His black eyes twinkle merrily.

"Price? What price? Can you get a discount?" Anya asks. "You should never pay full price for anything."

Giles turns away from Ethan pointedly. "Anya, put Andrew in an urn for burial. Willow, are you quite sure that Tara will be all right?"

Anya looks at the dustpan. "But it's just--"

"Don't argue with me."

For once in her talkative life, she doesn't. "Price?" Willow asks softly.

"Will Tara be all right?"

Willow nods and strokes Tara's cheek. Tara tosses her head and makes a small sound. "She's waking up."

"I'll be at home," Giles says. He picks up his glasses and looks at Ethan.

Ethan smiles, showing teeth. "Give me your glasses, Ripper."

"This can wait," Giles says.

"But I don't_ want_ to wait." Ethan holds out his hand.

He has no choice; he gives Ethan the glasses and Ethan shatters them between his palms. He takes Giles by the collar and presses his other hand, with the broken glasses, into Giles's throat.

"No!" Willow shouts. Her power swirls around them, but she can't touch them; this is a sacred moment.

The metal and glass melt under his skin--agonizing, but mercifully quick; he bites his tongue and doesn't cry out. When it cools, he bears Ethan's mark in the hollow of his throat and his body is a vessel of Chaos.

"Hands. Off." Willow crackles with power; it pours from her eyes to her hands in palpable waves.

"Willow! This is the price," Giles says, and coughs.

"What?"

"He didn't hurt me," he says, and he shows her the mark.

She settles back onto her feet, shock naked on her face. "What?"

"Ohhh. You sold him your body in return for his help," Anya says. "I suppose that's a fair deal for Dawn's life. I approve."

She sets an urn on the counter and funnels Andrew's dust into it.

Ethan watches Giles knowingly.

* * *

  
At home he touches his throat and thinks things over. Ethan wanders through the house, looking and touching as he pleases.

"Lovely house," Ethan says, "and I assume that charming basement was the boy's?"

"Yes," Giles says.

"Will his parents mourn him?"

"They already have." Clothes--the utilitarian ones. He has no affection for the tweed. He can ask Joyce to give the rest to charity. Books--the most powerful, and the one he lent to Jenny and she returned unmarked. The rest can go into storage and he can give the key to Buffy. Talismans and objects of power likewise.

The furniture can go to charity. The store to Anya and Xander. The house is rented, he can break the lease.

"Two days," Giles says. He needs to draw up papers for the shop, speak to his landlord, pack.

"Three is traditional," Ethan says.

"Two."

"I'm staying three. You can do as you please, of course."

"Can I?" He is Ethan's creature now.

Ethan smiles. "I have what I want--you and I, bound together. Forever." He sighs theatrically. "How lovely. Shall we have matching rings made?"

"Your mark will suffice." Giles turns away and hunts for his suitcase.

* * *

  
Midnight. He's sorting books; Ethan is asleep in his bed.

They were lovers once. He doesn't suppose they will be again. Ethan can't force him--there's no compulsion attached to this mark, which surprises him until he realizes that Ethan has never sought to control him, only to seduce him.

It won't work, not this time.

He hears a knock at the door and immediately a key in the lock. Buffy, then, come to see what he's done.

Giles meets her on the stair landing. Riley is with her, and Xander and Anya. "What happened?" Buffy asks.

"I sold my soul to Chaos in return for Dawn's life," Giles says. "You would have done the same."

"But that's crazy," Riley says, but Buffy understands; Giles can see it in her face.

"It's a perfectly straightforward transaction," Anya says. "A good in return for a service. It's no big deal, I've known lots of nice Chaos mages."

Xander watches him, somber as the grave. "But you're leaving."

"Yes."

"No!" Buffy cries out. "You can't leave, we still need you!"

"If I stay, Ethan will stay as well. The Hellmouth is bad enough without adding him to the mix--the man can't get dressed in the morning without setting loose rogue spells."

"So you get dressed, you have breakfast, you thwart Ethan Rayne--what's the problem?"

He descends the last few stairs and hugs her. After a moment, Xander hugs them both as well.

"Where are you going?" Anya asks. "I'll need a forwarding address and a phone number for store business--unless you're moving the store's location as well," she says with a frown.

"The store is yours," Giles says over Buffy's head. Anya shrieks in joy and runs up to hug him from behind.

Xander releases him and pries Anya away. Buffy presses her face to his chest and doesn't let go.

"I'm guessing there's an important reason that we're not just taking out Ethan Rayne," Riley says.

"You couldn't do it without killing me," Giles says.

Buffy hugs him tighter--he'll bruise, but this is the last time. "I take it this is a mystical brain-link thing, and not an 'over my dead body' thing?" Xander says.

"Quite right. Buffy--" His ribs are squeaking.

Buffy lets go and Riley rests his hand on her shoulder. "Where are you going to go?" she asks.

"I don't know yet."

"And you won't call when you get there," she says, mouth trembling.

Giles shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

She flinches; of course, it was the last thing Andrew said. "It's late," Riley says, softly. "We should go."

They file out two by two. Xander's keys fall from his hand; Giles picks them up and waits for him to return.

In the darkened foyer Xander looks older than his years. Giles holds up the key ring. "The key," he says. "The reason Andrew chose Dawn--it wasn't opportunity, it was her nature. She's a key that opens doors between worlds."

Xander takes the key ring from Giles. "I don't get it," he says.

"Neither do I. But the forces Andrew was controlling were unmistakable."

"What was he trying to do? Send us into hell?"

Giles shakes his head. "I don't know. If I weren't so--sentimental--so weak--I would have watched him more carefully, and I would have stopped him."

"You trusted him. It's not weakness, it's humanity." Xander's face is long and drawn and--once Giles really looks at him--fully adult. The children are no longer children.

"Keep them safe," Giles says.

"I'll try."

Xander pulls the door shut after him. Giles stands in the foyer, closes his eyes, and takes the surgical route.

He knows this house, every inch, everything in it. He thinks on the closet and the clothes fly from their hangers into his bag; he snaps his fingers and the bookshelf trades places with Buffy's old bicycle in her mother's basement. He gestures and his papers fly into order: the store, his will, his lease. Curios and talismans pack themselves into boxes and take wing to Willow's dormitory, where she will find a claiming slip in her mailbox.

Elsewhere, in response to this, a fault line will shudder, a tree will die--there is always a price for power.

He opens his eyes and takes a last pass through the house. The attic--the practice dummy, patched a dozen times. His library, his bedroom, Ethan with his hand trailing loosely on the floor. The living room, stripped of everything truly his; the kitchen, with a pint of blood still tucked into the coldest part of the refrigerator.

Andrew's room, untouched. He runs his fingers over the books filed neatly on the shelves--so _that's_ where his Carysine went--and straightens the leather jacket, tossed carelessly on the rumpled bed. The leather smells like old incense and Spike's cigarettes--there's no trace of a boy at all.

Andrew's necklace sits on the desk. Giles brings it to his cheek and closes his eyes again as the room packs itself into a box that is his will taken shape. He opens his eyes and looks at it: tall, square, inlaid with black and red triangles of burnished wood.

He holds out his hand and picks it up: now it fits into the palm of his hand.

Giles climbs the stairs again and shakes Ethan roughly. "We're leaving," he says.

Ethan squints at him. "Now?"

"Now." The box of books and suitcases of clothing walk themselves down the stairs and hop into the trunk of his car.

"But Ripper--"

"Now." He drags Ethan out of bed.

They leave that moment. "Goodbye, Hellmouth, goodbye, crooks, goodbye Slayer's dirty looks," Ethan sings cheerily.

Giles does not look back.  


* * *

One evening as the sun went down  
And the jungle fires were burning,  
Down the track came a hobo hiking,  
He said, "Boys, I'm not turning  
I'm headed for a land that's far away  
Beside the crystal fountain  
So come with me, we'll go and see  
The Big Rock Candy Mountain

Oh the buzzin' of the bees  
In the cigarette trees  
Near the soda water fountain  
At the lemonade springs  
Where the bluebird sings  
On the big rock candy mountain.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountain,  
It's a land that's fair and bright,  
The handouts grow on bushes  
And you sleep out every night.  
The boxcars all are empty  
And the sun shines every day  
I'm bound to go  
Where there ain't no snow  
Where the sleet don't fall  
And the winds don't blow  
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountain  
You never change your socks  
And little streams of alcohol  
Come trickling down the rocks  
The brakemen have to tip their hats  
And the railway bulls are blind  
There's a lake of stew  
And of whiskey too  
And you can paddle  
All around it in a big canoe  
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain

In the Big Rock Candy Mountain,  
The jails are made of tin.  
You can walk right out again,  
As soon as they put you in.  
There ain't no short-handled shovels,  
No axes, saws nor picks,  
I'm bound to stay  
Where you sleep all day,  
Where they hung the turk  
That invented work  
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain

Oh, I'll see you all this coming fall  
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

THE END.  



End file.
